Lessons In Love
by thatspark
Summary: Through the hands of her father and the men she would come to love later, Buffy Summers has learned to turn the other cheek. After one too many heartbreaks, Buffy begs her adoptive parents, Joyce and Rupert Giles, to take her away from her hometown. She locks her heart away where no one can touch it again- and hopes to goddess that Spike doesn't know how to pick locks.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note/Disclaimers: **Buffy and Spike have been listed as the only characters because there are just SO MANY in this story. There are a lot of "B" romances going on here. A lot of friendship fluff too.

The story has been rated for later content. Not what is included in this prologue. There are instances of Child Abuse, Attempted Rape, Implied Rape, Violence and Sexual Situations in the forthcoming text. You. Have. Been. _Warned_.

I own nothing. All characters and locations belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, WB, UPN, Dark Horse? and co.

* * *

**Prologue**

The saying goes that when your enemy strikes you on the right cheek, you should turn the other to them. Let them strike that one too. It's a biblical saying, apparently. Buffy Summers was never religious, but she was well versed in being struck. Turning the other cheek wasn't really a choice when striking back was out of the cards. If one could strike back, well, then it would just be a fight. No one needs confrontation.

Buffy tried to enter her home as silently as possible. It was too early in the evening for her father to have retired to his room. She winced at the realization that it was just late enough for him to start worrying about her safety. If she turned back now, if she let go of the knob, there would be no arguments tonight. Walking away would be all too easy, but she could never do that to her father. He needed her company in their lonely flat. Buffy took a deep breath. She inhaled the memories of chipper cheerleaders and dance routines that kept her going. She held the breath close, and as turned the knob, she exhaled.

"What kind of time do you call this, Buffy?" Her father's voice rang out from the living room. His breath was steady and the television was blaring some sports news program. These were good signs.

Buffy tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ears. She thought of next week's game and the possibility of a girls' night out this weekend. Hanging up her coat, she gave her father the most innocent smile she could manage. "I told you there's cheer practice on Tuesdays, Daddy."

A muscle twitched below his eye. A tiny, near imperceptible sliver of a muscle. Another witness would never see it. The moment would come and go so swiftly. Buffy never missed it anymore. That muscle was the amber light warning that her only options involved moving with caution. She had made friends with that muscle, and treasured it with her life.

"Are you mad at me, Daddy?" Buffy softened her voice. "It's not too late for dinner. I can cook us something nice. Make your favorite cheesy, cheesy lasagna."

Hank Summers reclined on the couch. He spread his legs wide and grumbled under his breath. Buffy started breathing easier. She could fill her head with thoughts of the moment if she wanted to. Cooking dinner wouldn't take long, she'd take a muscle relaxing warm shower, do some of that traumatic math homework and then curl into her soft fluffy bed with Mr. Gordo.

"Get me a beer, will you?" Hank threw over his shoulder as she moved to the kitchen.

Buffy sighed. One beer. One beer was hardly a threat. She fetched him his beverage before settling into her temporary safe space. Lasagna was always difficult for Buffy. Even after five years, she had not grown accustomed to preparing it alone. In order to escape the memories of having a cooking partner by her side, she filled her head with more recent memories. That day's cheerleading practice.

Cook the noodles. Backspring. Drain in a colander. Pike basket. Boil the sauce. Two cartwheels and a front handspring. Oil the pan. Saucy merengue break. Get me another beer.

Buffy gritted her teeth. Two beers. Two beers meant hide the scotch. There were seven beers left in the fridge, more than enough to keep him happy. With any luck, there would be a sloppy monologue about her academic failures and he would black out. She returned to the kitchen with the sound of her own pulse deafening her. There was no time left to mentally rehearse her routine. She had to focus on counting the beers.

She served the dinner at a table that could no longer seat six people. Hank hid the dining chairs in the basement, far away from possible guests. This table now belonged to him and Buffy alone.

They sat in silence, which was probably the custom after four beers. Counting the one she gave him with dinner, there should only be three. Buffy wrinkled her nose in confusion and then straightened her face when she realized he must be watching her. If he didn't follow the rules of the beer count, how would she know when?

"Is everything okay, Daddy?" Buffy pushed the lasagna around in her plate. _'Did you drink before I got here?'_

Hank looked up at his daughter beneath heavy lids. She tried to read his hazel-green eyes, eyes that were echoed on her own face. His expression was so forlorn, so lost. For a moment, his mask slipped away and her Daddy came back home. He was there for her cheer meets in grade school, he watched her win a tiara at only six years old, he held her hand when she met Alice for the first time. Then came the fire. A blaze that made his face so hot that the little muscle nearly tore itself out of it's prison of skin.

"Do you know what happens, Buffy, when you forget to make the coffee before you leave in the morning?" His fingers gripped the empty beer can set beside his plate. Three beers. Three beers meant breathe slowly. Four meant don't run. Five meant don't scream. Six meant scotch. Scotch meant…turn the other cheek.

"Daddy, is that your third beer?" Buffy held her breath when her pitch waivered for a moment. Her own breath, a traitor.

"Answer the fucking question, Buffy," Hank returned with menace and a sort of politeness. Even with ugly words, he wanted her to believe it was a request. His commands always sounded like subtle begging.

"You have to make it?" Buffy answered. She was so not prepared for a pop quiz.

"I don't make my own coffee, Buffy," Hank returned with a grimace. Still friendly in his tone. He laughed. "I don't make my own coffee, I go to work tired. I go to work tired, I can't do my job. I can't do my job, I lose. My god damned. Job!"

Buffy leapt to her feet before she could think. There would never be enough time to back away from the table, and now he was watching her too closely. "You can get a new job, Daddy. I'll help you. It'll be like, a bonding thing." Her own voice, a traitor. She was pleading with him now. There was no chance for him to hear the words. Hank hated the pleading.

He closed the space between them before she could readjust her tone. A sharp sting on her cheek told her she was too late, and that was not his third beer. She balled her fists and grounded her bare feet into the carpet. Running only ended in tripping and hair pulling. She turned her unmarked cheek towards him.

"Why would I want to bond with a little whore! You think I don't know where you run off to at night?"

She looked him in the eyes again. "Daddy I don't-" That one would bruise.

"Did I say you could fucking talk!" Saliva. And scotch.

Buffy kept her mouth shut. It took everything to resist wiping the spit from her cheek. At some point, between blunt fists and kicks to her abdomen, Hank would expect her to scream. He would be want it. Want her to ask for help. When he slammed her face against the sharp corner of the door frame, she would not let that yelp hiding at the back of her throat go. She was thinking of the door. He would grow tired of trying to make her fight back. When she proved to him that her silence could not be worn down, he would end the tirade the way it started.

Hank struck Buffy on her cheek with his free hand. The hand that gripped her by the collar of her cheerleading t-shirt released her with such force that the back of her head hit the wall. She met his eyes with five years of anger, a fire much smaller and much hotter than his own. For a moment, less than a second, she frightened him. A scotch-drenched glob of saliva caught her swollen eye, gluing it shut.

Buffy continued her silent protest until her father was nestled safely under layers of cotton comfort. She took the dishes away from the table and washed her efforts at peacemaking away. He hadn't even finished his dinner. She stifled hysterical laughter while the remainder of his favorite meal was preserved for another day.

She moved slowly and silently to the bedroom at the back of the flat. In the mist of a hot shower, she held her anger and resistance close. They were all she had left of herself tonight. She was a dragon, the steam was her roaring breath of fire bubbling under the surface. The shower was left on as she stepped out. The sounds of water assaulting the tile made a fair cover for open drawers and creaking closet doors. Her father had probably exhausted into a stupor by now, but she took no chances.

She pulled a duffel bag she had started packing months ago out of her closet. The time had come to finish the job. She knew hours ago. In the kitchen. Two beers. Her eyes had latched onto an expensive set of precision chef's knives. They were very good knives. Up until now, they were knives that only her mother had touched. If she stayed here, there would only be two living residents for a very short time. It could be anyone, really. Hank had an ex-boxer's body and Buffy, well, Buffy had some very good knives.

Buffy took her overstuffed duffel bag and three month's allowance with her as she crossed the threshold of that god forsaken door. There would be no note left behind. She had no apology to make, and he knew why she was leaving anyway. He could sit alone with his sorrow, remembering the two Summers women who would leave him alone in that house. Neither one leaving a goodbye behind.

* * *

"We got a scrambled and sunnyside with three sausages!" Buffy clipped her order write-up to the kitchen window.

"Got three sausages back here too, Anne!" The head cook gave her a slimy leer. The two busboys shared amused glances.

"Get some new material," Buffy grumbled before making her way to the juice pitchers. She returned to the table and smiled down at her favorite regular. "So Joyce, are you going to introduce me to your really British date?"

"Actually, Anne, this is my fiance." Joyce clasped hands with the mousy man sitting across from her.

"Look at you! All with the romance. No wonder I haven't seen you around lately," Buffy smiled at Joyce's fiance as he pushed up his wire-framed glasses. He was going to poke his eyes out with vision enhancers. "Are you going to have the wedding here?"

"Chickens on a raft! Adam and Eve on a log!"

"Damn it, Donny!" Buffy screamed at the cook. "That's not what I told you!"

"It's alright, Anne. We'll settle."

Buffy brought the couple their close-enough breakfasts, grateful that Joyce was going easy on her. It was first on a long list of reasons why she appreciated Joyce's presence. There were always far too many people pouring into the diner. None of them knew the menu, and Donny rarely got the orders right anyway. Buffy wanted to strike everything but coffee and pie off of the list. She could handle coffee and pie. She never neglected the coffee.

"So what's your name, Mr. Brit?" She asked as she handed him his eggs on toast.

"Hm? Oh. I- R-rupert. Rupert Giles." He gave his hand she shook it, casting an approving glance over to Joyce.

"Joyce Giles," she mused. "It could use some work."

"I like it." Joyce tried to hide her dreamy smile. "Rupert opened a little bookstore next to the gallery two months ago," she said. "It wasn't long before the gallery started missing me."

Two months? Could people fall in love in two months? Especially old people. Buffy only doubted it for a second. Joyce's smile reached her eyes and sneaked into her voice. She was most definitely in love. Buffy had never seen love light up someone that way. Every word was punctuated with the kind of glee that grown ups were definitely not supposed to have outside of their childhood memories. There were like children right at that moment, Joyce with the laughter and Giles with the blushing. Four months in this diner and no married couple had ever looked so happy. Her parents had never been this happy.

"Do you guys want some pie? On me. Consider it a wedding present."

Joyce and Rupert accepted their presents like any child on their birthday. She watched them from afar while serving a diner full of entitled and possibly inebriated college students. She never made it back to her favorite regular's table before she left, but on the table was enough money to cover the breakfast, the pies and Buffy's light bill. Beneath the tip was a job application for Giles & Co. Books._ 'I pay well, and have considerably more polite customers.'_ read a little scribble at the bottom of the paper. Buffy hung up her apron, twice as happy that her shift was over.

She spent the night trying to recall every almost-accomplishment she could have pulled out of her high school existence. There was a voice in the back of her mind nagging and pulling, eating away at the confidence she managed to pick up in the diner. Her heart was sinking and fast. Joyce didn't even know her real age or...name.

It was impossible for her to pay up for this uncomfortable living space without revealing her identity. The landlord never seemed to care that his most recent tenant was seventeen, recently homeless, and at the time she moved in, unemployed. She suspected the diner manager, Mitch, only hired her to see her legs bare in the uniform. He was a pig, like almost all the other male employees, but he hired her before her seventeenth birthday and asked no questions. The last thing Buffy wanted was someone who would go digging into her past. So why was she writing this information down?

The walls of her humble abode were dangerously close to rotting away and leaving her stranded on a lumpy bed island in a sea of stained kitchen was small enough to wash dishes while pulling muffins out of the oven. For the first time in her life, Buffy had no closet. The initial Spartan charm was losing its effect and fast.

If Giles really did pay well, this rat hole she was calling home could become a chapter in the very distant past. She missed having a cozy kitchen, hot water, and properly stocked closet.

Landing the job was easy enough. All Giles really wanted was someone who could read, count money, and pay close attention to his customers' needs. Buffy had to wonder why some college student had not snatched the position away. It didn't pain her though; she was grateful the college kids missed out. She could work away the hours with some peace and quiet for once.

Buffy made a habit of disappearing behind the towering shelves when she wasn't needed at the counter. Giles didn't mind. He seemed to enjoy the company, and the opportunity to expose her to books she never knew she would enjoy. She managed to settle in for a few weeks before Joyce insisted on a meeting between the three of them. Nothing lasted forever for Buffy. She knew that. Still, she couldn't dispel the hope that Giles (and co.) would keep her for a while.

Buffy pushed open the door to Giles office only to be greeted by two guilty grown-up faces. It was the look her parents would get when they called a family meeting- that was all about her. Giles was perched on the corner of his desk, fervently cleaning his glasses. Joyce was smiling a little too much for comfort. It was the way her mother smiled when she told Buffy there would be no trip to Disneyland this year.

Joyce slid to the far side of the little office couch and gave the empty seat a pat. Buffy shut the door behind her. For a moment, she considered sprinting away, changing her name and starting another new life. She took her place next to Joyce and tried to read the two adults as they stayed silent.

"As riveting as all the quietness is, I was kind of expecting some talk."

"R-right, of course," Giles placed the frames back on their usual spot atop his nose bridge. "Er, Buffy, we need to discuss your current...living situation with you."

"That's little personal, isn't it?" Buffy tucked a length of hair behind one ear.

"Buffy, you're a minor. Shouldn't you be living with family? What are you doing about school?" Joyce place a warm hand on top of Buffy's. The comfort burned.

"I have no family," Buffy said. She couldn't find the strength to pull away from Joyce. "And I don't need one. See? Totally doing the independent thing."

"And what about school, Buffy?" Joyce wasn't pushing. Buffy wavered for a moment. Tears stung behind her eyes because she knew. She knew they had to make an effort to treat her like a child.

"Doing okay with it so far," Her resolve was faltering. Her own voice, a traitor.

"Joyce and I have been discussing possible a possible alternative for you, if you are willing."

This was new territory, adults considering her opinions when it came to her personal life. These adults, they were employers- friends even, but they were not her family. She didn't have a family anymore for a reason. Her life needed to be locked away from them, where only she could control it.

"Would you like to live with us Buffy?" The tone was unassuming and still too far from pushy. Joyce was being patient with her and it broke something inside.

For the first time since her mother stepped out the damned front door, every emotion she had felt spilled on the floor in front of her. Her eyes, her voice, her heaving lungs, all brutal traitors. The tears came without effort, and they kept coming. When Joyce wrapped her arms around traitorous shoulders, when Giles placed a hand on her arm, she knew there would be tears for days.

She was wrong. She cried for weeks. Buffy cried when she packed her bags and left the shabby apartment she had never grown to love. She cried when she settled into the guest bedroom that was hers, if she wanted it. When Giles helped her make an arrangement with the school principal regarding the classes she would need to catch up with, she was left with a post-cry migraine. Then it stopped, as it began, all at once.

* * *

"Buffy!" Cordelia Chase separated waves of tightly packed teenagers with little more than a signature click of stilettos. Love her or hate her, no one could deny that she knew how to part a crowd. She never looked back at a single disgruntled student.

"Cordy!" Buffy kept her game face on. High school was a battlefield of raw emotion. One wrong move could essentially ruin her life as she knew it. The best poker faces won the game. "Missed you after practice. Thought we had a mall date?"

"I know I'm the worst. But I come bearing good news!"

"Math has been cancelled. Forever."

"No such luck. I think I'd need a fairy godmother for that one. But," She wore the proud smile of someone who had done something very, very right.

"Are you gonna make me drag it out? Spill!" Buffy pushed Cordy's shoulder gently.

"Hey. No touchy the sweater. I'm taking it back to Saks this weekend."

"Cordy!"

"Okay, okay. Take a whole bottle of chill. I just got you a date with the second hottest boy on the football team." Cordy had every right to be proud. She'd done good. "Mister tall, dark and moody is your date to the movies this Friday."

"How did you do it? Tell me your secrets."

"I told him to ask you out because you obviously want him and he almost pounced at the chance," Cordy stopped walking and tilted her head to the side. "I swear, he almost smiled."

He did that. Angel smiled more than anyone seemed to realize.

Since the first day she stepped on campus, Buffy felt magnetically drawn to Angel. There was something she hated about it. He would stand in the hallway, all broody and mysterious, never approaching her. He would smile right before breaking eye contact and go wherever he was needed, giving her just enough to want more. They made googly eyes while she was at cheer practice, even though football season was over and he really didn't to be there. He and his friends would find some way to train on the field. He made sure he was there all sweaty and panting while she interpreted her dance moves in the sexiest way possible.

Sure they said "hello" to each other as they passed in the halls. It was hard not to engage one another when they had so many friends in common. They only ever had one conversation by the time Cordy arranged a convenient double date, and it involved the shelf life of cafeteria jello. He smiled then too.

"Buffy, you can't wear that," Cordelia nearly tore an ivory camisole from Buffy's hands. This was the trouble with asking Cordy for fashion advice. She had a habit of making it her fashion duty. "Even with a cardigan, this thing is practically see-through." She shoved a black mini-dress into Buffy's hands.

"Cordy isn't this a little-"

"Skanky?"

"No. Slinky. I was gonna say slinky." Buffy held the dress up against her body and walked to the mirror. The material nearly slipped through her fingers. It would be a miracle if Rupert let her out of the house wearing it, and Joyce wouldn't like it too much either."Are you sure about this one?"

"Buffy. Sexy, but not too sexy, remember?" Cordelia plucked a jacket and flats from Buffy's closet. How soon Buffy forgot that she didn't know have of what was in there. Nearly everything had be chosen by Cordelia or Joyce. The dress was one of Cordy's though, she could tell by how grown-up it felt. "This one'll drive him crazy. Even covered up."

Buffy shuddered. "Don't want him crazy. Just…"

"Want him?"

"Shut up." But she couldn't deny it. Slipping into her little black totally-not-a-first-date dress, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have someone slip it off of her for the first time; and that maybe she wouldn't mind it being Angel.

If the dress affected Angel at all, Buffy never saw it. When he and Doyle came to pick up the girls, he didn't say a word about Buffy's outfit. His eyes didn't even linger over the shape of her. They were locked on her own. Big brown eyes staring down at her with an almost constrained softness, like he was holding his vulnerability back. He smiled.

"Buffy," It was surprising how quickly she could forget that Angel towered over her. He was generally larger, standing at near six feet with his strong arms and washboard abs- the ones she was disappointed to not see through his shirt at the moment- not to mention those big hands. She didn't even know what she would do with hands like his, but she knew she loved looking at them.

"Angel," Buffy replied with a smile.

"Well don't you two start all the chatter before we get to the car," Doyle said. Even if Buffy and Angel had been talking, Cordelia would have drowned them out within seconds. She pounced on the opportunity to share every detail of the day's gossip with Doyle.

After a few minutes of not really listening to Cordelia's somewhat one-sided conversation, Buffy felt Angel slide his hand across the seat that separated them. She was glad Doyle was there to absorb Cordy's obsessive speech. It left her more time to silently melt into Angel's deep brown eyes while wrapping her hand around his. They stepped out of the car like that, hand in hand.

When Angel insisted on buying Buffy's ticket and refreshments (a gesture that got an approving nod from Cordelia), their hands were still intertwined. They only broke apart to move towards their seats and even then, Angel's hand found Buffy's within moments after sitting down. He wasn't saying much, Angel never did, but the constant hand holding seemed like a very good sign to Buffy. Even if it did leave her hands a little clammy at the end of the night.

Not one of the four paid attention to the movie. It was a formulaic chick-flick anyway. Girl meets guy in a cute way, girl and guy fight for an hour, some misunderstanding keeps them apart, then they sort it all out and live happily ever after. It wasn't as if Doyle and Cordelia were missing out on a cinematic masterpiece while they attacked each other's faces. Still, that left Buffy to bounce her puns off of Angel instead of her friend. He was...surprisingly responsive. Angel was no comedic genius, to be sure, but he seemed genuinely excited to be her audience. Whenever she managed to pull away from the screen (sure the comedy was dull and predictable, but that only made it better for Buffy), she would see him staring down at her with such reverence and awe that all she could do was turn red and return to the screen.

No one had ever looked at Buffy like that, like she was the biggest present under the Christmas tree or the grand prize in a treasure hunt. There was nothing in the world that could make her melt the way his look was at this moment. She was a puddle of Buffy. For a moment she thought she could break the silence between them with a carefully thought out cultural reference, but Angel was prolonging her nervous silence with touches. His hand was moving up her arm, her shoulder, her neck, until finally he was caressing her cheek, and Puddle Buffy drained into the seat. It didn't last long, though. Angel moved his hand slowly back down to her own and kept it there for the remainder of the night.

They walked back to the car linked together. At some point during the drive, Angel managed to slip his arm around Buffy and pull her close. He had a tight grip, she noticed, it felt like he was claiming her with his embrace. Cordelia ranted for the fifteen minutes it took to drop her home about the utter dullness of the movie (and what was with that wedding dress at the end? Ew.). Buffy was surprised to hear Cordy had caught the ending at all.

"But, I guess it was okay. Gerard Butler is still total eye candy so whatevs," Cordy said as she stepped from the car. Doyle held the door open and followed her to the porch.

"So, Buffy," Angel was giving her that look again. That heart-meltingly reverent look. "Am I allowed to ask you out again?"

"Mm, no," Buffy said coyly. Angel's fingers twitched against her shoulder for a moment. "I've already decided we're going out again, so it would be redundant."

"Is that right?" Angel was trying to keep his voice steady, but Buffy caught the wave of amusement underneath.

"Yup. Next week you're gonna take me to see an action flick. No more rom-coms. And," Buffy turned to face him. She met his eyes for the first time and had to keep herself from falling into them. "You're going to get me a large popcorn this time."

"Good to know," Angel's jaw ticked slightly. Buffy hoped that was a sign of restrained laughter. Even as she was implying their second date, her heart had been hammering. She was so scared she had made an utter fool of herself. But Angel played along happily.

When Doyle got back to the car, Buffy's bag was vibrating wildly. She pulled out her cell to see a new text message from Cordy. "Get that 1st kiss!" it read and Buffy had to lock the phone before Angel could catch a glimpse. Doyle pulled up to her house a few minutes later and turned to face the back seat with a smile.

"M'lady, I do believe this is your stop," He said. He turned to Angel. "'Snot polite t'let a lady walk around in the dark alone."

Buffy's eyes widened. Doyle and Cordelia had spent an awful lot of time on Cordy's porch. Buffy had just assumed they were kissing the whole time. Could they have been planning something?

"Out tha' door, oh broodin' one."

"Bye, Doyle," Buffy said, willing herself not to blush. Angel did as he was told and followed Buffy to her front door. They stood together in an uncomfortable silence after Buffy unlocked the door. "This is where I get off-I mean. I-I just meant, like, my house. This is my place of residence where I live and now I'm rambling and- mmph!"

Angel had crashed his lips into hers before she could think to protest. One of his hands was wrapped around her waist and the other tangled in her hair. It was just enough to keep her pressed against him as she melted into his warm lips. She was Puddle Buffy again, except now it was so much worse. She gave him a slight push when his tongue started to roam the corners of her lips. He looked more than a little hurt at the separation.

"I-I don't think...not quite in Tongue Territory yet. I just got to Kiss Country," Buffy winced. Not only had she confessed her embarrassing secret of being a kiss virgin, but she gave second base the worst nickname it could ever receive. "Babbling Buffy should say bye now."

Angel gave her another kiss on the cheek and waited until she was inside to walk back to Doyle's car. Buffy had to reconstitute herself from being a massive puddle by the door in order to make her way to the bedroom. She could barely answer Joyce's simple questioning about the night without gushing about Angel's perfect hands and perfect smile and perfect kiss.

Angel had seemed so perfect. Buffy looked up at the fluorescent lights, wondering if they could blind her if she stared long enough. Really, they could only blind her left eye. Her right eye was already too puckered to see out of. She rummaged through the memories of their first date, their second, their third, the long list of perfect kisses, the day he asked her to be his, and months of perfect moments, but nothing showed a warning sign. None that she could recognize anyway. She remembered warning signs. She remember muscle twitches and too-polite voices and counting the beers. What happened with Angel, that came all at once.

_She had been cradled in his arms for well over an hour. Her muscles were aching in new ways that weren't terrible, but definitely not welcome. His finger were tracing patterns in her back, and he was feathering her forehead with soft kisses. She wondered how she ended up here, naked and tangled in the limbs of her perfect boyfriend. It had barely been a week since they made it to third base (Heavy Petting-ville) and yet here she was, naked and aching in his basement bedroom. All because his parents were gone for a few days._

Well, that had been alright, hadn't it? It was ample opportunity to cross the finish line. Neither one of them would get a chance like that for a long time. Angel had made it so lovely too, with scented candles and a full body massage (she still smelled like vanilla oil). He'd given her the warmest kisses and the softest touches. Her first time hadn't been bad at all, not by a long shot. Okay, she didn't exactly want to cross the finish line tonight. But she had given in specifically to make him happy. Why wasn't he happy?

_"Mmm, what time is it?" Her eyes fluttered open against her will. She scratched his chest lightly._

_He turned to face his bedside clock. "Only seven-thirty. You've got time."_

_"Mm-mm. Wish I did. Really wish. But Joyce expects me back early tonight. She says I've been breaking curfew a little too much lately," she sighed and began to sit up._

_He pulled her back down to him and locked an arm around her waist. "Stay, Buffy. Stay the night."_

_"I can't," She said, using both arms to push herself off of his chest. He held her tighter, stroking her arms. But the strokes were too rough, and his other arm was bruising her waist. "Angel. Angel, you're hurting me."_

That was it. She had tried to leave. She should have just stayed, then. Given him what he wanted. Turned the other cheek. Sure, she would have gotten severely grounded for staying out all night, but there would be no angry welts all over, no broken arm, no right-eye blindness. Buffy sighed. She could have given him everything he wanted tonight, maybe even again tomorrow night. But what would happen a week from now? A month? A year? Would he calm down, or was this destined?

_"You're my girl, Buffy," His eyes were desperate and pleading and angry and raw. There was a steady line of blood dripping down his face. The broken lamp turned the basement into an obstacle course of ceramic fragments. And that had been her doing._

_"Yes. Angel, I'm your girl," She said in her most patient voice before she took a step to the basement stairs. "And I'll be your girl tomorrow and the next day. Just let me go."_

Of course he didn't let her go. Angel had sworn to Buffy never to let her go and she had the promise ring to prove it. An antique, sterling silver claddagh ring sit wrapped around her right ring finger. Buffy peeled the thing off and stared at it. She could see into the past with this ring. She could remember all those little moments with a clarity she didn't usually possess. The perfect moments, not the painful ones.

"Are you alright, Buffy?" Joyce asked as she returned with a Diet Coke.

Buffy couldn't help it. She really did try. But alright was the furthest word from her mind at the moment. It was sitting in a far away heap along with "good", "happy", "pleased" and "perfect". She burst out laughing, her injured ribs straining in protest.

"I'm sorry," Joyce said. She popped the can open and stuck a straw in, placing it in Buffy's working hand.

"How did I get here Joyce?" Buffy hated hospitals. When she was healing from her father's tirades, she never stepped near one. Not once. They smelled like antiseptic and there were always people crying nearby.

"You don't remember?" Buffy wondered why Joyce looked so puzzled. Should she remember? Probably. She remembered everything else. She thought she could remember everything else. But there had been a pretty heavy hit-WHAM!- and then Buffy was waking up to white lights. "Angel brought you. He said you two were attacked. He looks a mess but he's only worried about you."

"Right," Buffy said. "Me...I want to see him. Alone."

Joyce nodded and headed to the door.

"And Joyce? Tell Giles I'm alright."

Perfect. For a moment she forgot he was pure evil because he stepped in and was so perfect. His big puppy dog eyes welling up with tears. She wanted to cradle him against her chest and tell him no, she was alright. She could even move some of her right arm's fingers. He wasn't perfect at all, she remembered. It was a slow memory. Buffy felt like she was swimming through gelatin to get away from his stupid, perfect face. She was supposed to be angry.

She was only...crushed. Buffy felt something cool and small in her broken hand. She threw it at him with a vengeance and received a perfect bulls-eye for her effort. The ring had knocked him straight in the eye. She didn't wince as her arm stung under its cast.

"We were attacked, huh?"

"Buffy, I-"

"Don't. Just get out."

He left. He just left. He had fought her so hard to stay by her side only to leave like a kicked puppy. Buffy couldn't decide if she was angry or grateful that he didn't even try. Either way, she wouldn't cry over it. She wouldn't waste tears on him.

* * *

Buffy never told Joyce that Angel stopped being perfect that night. She pretended the breakup was her fault. So help her, part of her truly believed it was. How couldn't it be? She was supposed to be so experienced and aware of the hurt. No one was supposed to slip past the abuse radar. As far as Joyce knew, Angel never did. Since Joyce didn't know, Giles never found out. Buffy knew Joyce would call the cops if she heard and Giles, he wouldn't. She wasn't sure which option scared her more. So she kept it quiet, left school before the last few weeks were through, and hoped Angel got the help he needed.

Giles helped her with exams and papers over those last weeks. She didn't officially drop out. She took a sick leave, which was easy to do since she had recently been in the hospital with some pretty severe injuries. Cordelia brought her homework down to the bookstore and shared any and all updates regarding Buffy rumors. Angel didn't say too much about the mystery muggers. It didn't surprise Buffy that he wasn't trying to take credit. Angel liked to brood and live in his misery, he was probably wrapped up in guilt over their fight. Cordelia tried to ask why exactly they broke it off, but Buffy couldn't think of a good straight answer. Nothing really satisfied Cordy's curiosity.

"I just can't look at him anymore, okay?" Buffy practically screamed at her best friend one lonely afternoon.

"Okay, take the stick out of your butt!" Cordy yelled right back. "I was only asking because he misses you. It's depressing, really."

"Yeah, well, I don't miss him." It was a lie. Buffy missed Angel every second of every day. Even two months after "The Incident", she thought about her Angel. The perfect one. The one who introduced her to his father with a great big smile on his face, the one who didn't make fun of her for tearing up during 'All Dogs Go To Heaven', the one who would never, ever. Her Angel would never, so hers wasn't real. Still, she missed him.

"Ooh! Does that mean we're in moving on territory?"

"Rebound Land?" Buffy joked as she reorganized the show display window to show off the summer bestsellers.

"No girl is an island! Especially in this summer heat."

"I don't know, Cordy, maybe I'm not relationship-girl."

"Neither am I! Look how it turned out with Doyle," said Cordelia. By "turned out" she meant the way they were intense makeout buddies for about a month until they decided to go their separate ways and kiss other people.

"So I should have a kissing friend? I'm not really the kissing friend type either," Buffy said. She really did want someone to hold every night and share gifts with during the holidays. Buffy couldn't deny wanting someone who would be hers, but wouldn't own her. "No. I...want a boyfriend."

"Then we should totally get you one! I bet tons of cute guys come into this place," Cordelia took a look around, rethinking her statement. "Okay some cute guys maybe come here."

"It's mostly college kids and middle aged women." Buffy had definitely been working at Giles and Co. long enough to understand the clientele. Half were college students who had the store suggested by their schools (Giles always insisted on stocking several copies of books no one but students read) and women who poured in from Joyce's gallery or the clothing stores that neighbored them.

"College boys!" Cordy clung to Buffy's arm so tightly that she nearly dropped a stack of As I Lay Dying, which honestly might have made her laugh. "Buffy, why didn't you tell me there were college guys!"

"Cordy, shh!" The store wasn't open yet, but Giles would have a massive cow (maybe a whole bull) if they disturbed his work in the office. "Yes. There are college boys. There are hot college boys with their big words and frat parties and...term papers."

Cordelia said nothing this time. She just stared. It was an unnerving and knowing stare that almost caused Buffy to break down about "The Incident" more than once. Almost.

"Okay! There's this one guy. He's almost twenty and he's really hot in this clean-cut kinda way and he's been dropping hints for an eternity."

"But?"

"Well, when I met him I was with Angel-"

"And now you're not!"

"But what am I going to do?" Buffy started to check the till, preparing herself for the beginning of a long shift. "Walk up to him and say 'Hi, Riley, you remember me? That girl who's too scared to tell you she's in high school but just brave enough to shoot you down even though you're super cute?' Because that always works so well."

"Well if _you_ don't want Riley-"

Buffy's head shot up in response. For just a glimmer of a second, she gave Cordelia her most deadly of glares. She wouldn't. Would she? Buffy had no right to stake a claim. She barely even knew Riley and she had just turned down the idea of dating him. Besides, Cordelia had never seen Riley before. The only thing she could be attracted to was Buffy's vague description of him.

"Aha! You want him."

"I kinda sorta...really want him," Buffy confessed. She turned the sign to 'Open' and Cordelia started heading out the door.

"Then you'd better kinda sorta ask him out before I have to track him down and do it for you," Cordelia said. She turned back around to emphasize, "And I can do it too. Daddy has connections."

Buffy didn't see Riley for another week and a half, which meant she had to endure daily phone calls from Cordelia- all of them threatening to track the poor college student down. When he finally stepped in, it was with a book list for summer reading. He was taller than Buffy remembered, his light brown hair neatly cut and combed. Buffy couldn't help but think he looked like a square in a 1950's greaser movie. In a cute way. He was a cute square.

"Can I help you?" Buffy chirped, mentally kicking herself for being too perky.

"No, I think I-" When Riley looked up at her, she made a point of not breaking eye contact. He inhaled sharply, which Buffy prayed was a good sign, and continued. "Actually yeah. Psychology: Themes and Variations by-"

"You have to special order textbooks. We stock a lot of history and literature, but all the other stuff is pretty specific. We probably don't have that one," Buffy bit her lip. She was hoping Riley wouldn't just turn and head out the door. She had to take this into her own hands, like Cordelia would. "You could stay. Make the order."

"Great. Then I'd have an excuse to see you when the books come in," Riley said. He had certainly taken the opening she gave him.

"What?" Buffy chuckled nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- You probably have a boyfriend or-"

"No! No boyfriend. I'm boyfriend-free Buffy."

Riley and Buffy smiled at each other for a long time after that, until he finally made his order and walked back out the door. He promised to be back as soon as the books arrived. Buffy hoped it was soon. Like within the next hour.

What did she mean it would take an hour? The campus was less than thirty minutes from her house and Cordelia heard how desperate Buffy was. She _did_ hear it, didn't she? It was in the way she repeated herself over and over. It was in the way she wouldn't let a response get past her without cutting it off at the root. It was in the way her voice betrayed her when she swore she wouldn't cry. He didn't even stay with her. That horrified look on his face almost made up for the way he left her, but it did not make up for him leaving her.

Even Angel had stayed.

_"Well whad'ya espec' Buffy?" He slurred through his vehemence, throwing a red plastic cup at the wall. "I'ma man. I have nee's. I can't wai'ma whole life waiting feryu to be 'ready'." She wanted to rip his fingers right off. What was with the air quotes? Ready meant ready._

_"I didn't say you had to wait forever, Riley," She gripped the bedside table. Her head was spinning and she could feel her pulse in her ears and fingers. Something wasn't right. Was she sweating? The sweating could be from the making out that she just halted._

_Part of her really wanted to get back to that. Riley had really warm hands and they felt so very good before he started sliding up her skirt._

_"Well then when, Buffy!" He grabbed her by the wrists and shook her. Was he crying? "S'bin two months, you know that? We kiss, we touch, we stop. Ev'ry time! I love you, Buffy. Can't you see that?"_

_"I- Riley, it's not that simple-" Was two months really such a long time? Joyce and Giles got engaged in two. She'd been with Angel twice as long and the 'L' word didn't come easy for either party. Maybe she did love Riley back, but he wasn't allowing her to figure it out._

_"Why not? I could show you if you let me, Buffy. I can show you how much I love you."_

If anyone ever asked, she would never have the answer for why she followed her boyfriend - her drunk boyfriend - into an empty bedroom in the middle of a huge frat party. She was feeling ill and she trusted him, drunk or not. There were no warning signs. He was her boyfriend and it wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not again. Things didn't work like this. There were no warnings! Buffy threw her phone at the wall.

She crumpled into a little ball at the head of the bed and held herself together lest her insides fall out. All of her pain and secrets would escape through the massive cavity Riley left in her chest. That place where her heart was supposed to be. That place where she had just started to pick up the pieces Angel shattered.

_"Buffy?"_

_She didn't move. She had stopped moving minutes ago. Right after he slapped the tears right out of her. No more noise, no more fighting. Turn the other cheek._

_"Buffy what- Oh. Oh my god, Buffy, I'm so sorry," He said. He got off of her. He looked back at the mess he made and started to cry. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."_

_She didn't move. She needed him to see her stay still they way he asked - demanded. She turned to face him and met his wide green eyes with her own. "You showed me."_

_He ran._

* * *

Nothing anyone told her was going to make it right. No matter how many times Riley called to apologize the next day, no matter how many times Joyce let Buffy know she was here for her, she was empty now. Rent right down the middle by the first boy she ever gave her heart to and the first man she ever trusted to repair it. She was an idiot. So why was she sitting in this room, all alone with sweet and sensitive Parker Abrams? The poor boy deserved better than her. He didn't need someone broken and stupid.

"You're beautiful, Buffy," Parker said to her before placing a chaste kiss on her lips. "I want to see all of you."

_"Every flaw?"_ Buffy thought. _"Every stupid mistake?"_

"I mean it. You're such a mystery, Buffy Summers."

He only believed that because she hadn't told him anything. He knew the basics, yes. Her name was Buffy Summers. She lived with Joyce and Rupert Giles, manager of the Sutherland Gallery and owner of Giles and Co. Books respectively. She liked ice cream and pug puppies and watching Japanese action films, with or without the subtitles. Parker didn't know anything real, anything wrong. So it must have been easy to look at Buffy and see golden perfection, instead of an angry drunken father, and two angry abusive ex-boyfriends.

Parker continued to kiss her. His kisses didn't melt her like Angel's or drown her like Riley's, but they were so sweet and soft. Even as his tongue began to dance with hers, it was a slow waltz. He lowered her on the bed with ease, stripping off her clothes as his lips moved to caress her jawline. She let him.

Buffy didn't react, she didn't fight or pull him in. She just let his sweet touches pass over her like a cool breeze. And when it was over, she fell asleep next to him, not at all bothered by the way his arm draped over her body as he slept on the other side of the bed.

When the morning came, she hated to admit it, but Buffy was surprised to find herself alone. Her newly adoptive parents were out for the weekend, gone to a neighboring city for some art thing she never quite understood. Buffy was supposed to be curled up in bed with a really nice guy she might never fall in love with, but would allow herself to be loved by. Okay, she would take a long time to open up to him. But she had started on the physical and he seemed to care about the emotional, so what gave? And why did she care?

She did care. She cared so much. This was supposed to be it. It wasn't a perfect love. They wouldn't live happily ever after. Still, Parker had promised to stay by her side and...know her. See all of her. Oh.

He spent weeks over the summer and at school talking to her. He spun tales about his father's death when he caught her crying in the halls about Hank. She regretted that now, crying over Hank. He had hurt her for so long and she still had found it in her to cry for him when he died. And for what? Where had that led her? Alone on a bed save for a note left on her pillow.

_'That was fun. I'll see you. - P.'_

It wasn't fun. It was so far from fun. Buffy had never, not once, had fun. Not with Parker, not with Angel and most certainly not with Riley.

_"Give it to them once and they leave,"_ Buffy thought. _"Or go ape-crap crazy."_

He wouldn't see her. It was hard enough to occasionally glimpse Angel around the corner. She quit cheer squad over him. But Parker? She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that pathetic look on her face when she faced him in Econ. She picked up her phone and dialed the only person she wanted within a fifty foot radius of her right now.

The only person that made her feel like she might still have a heart.

"Joyce? Can you come home? I… I need you."

She told her everything. The minute Buffy was done recounting the list of sordid experiences, it wasn't long but she had a lot to say about them, she wondered why she hadn't spoken sooner. What had been the real purpose of hiding it? It could have been the fact that Joyce's patience and understanding only made the pain worse. If Buffy wasn't causing all of this then it was happening to her. And if it wasn't her fault, well, why did it keep happening?

Buffy Anne Summers was a blubbering heap on the floor when Rupert Giles came home. Joyce didn't tell him everything- Buffy begged her not to- but she said enough. Enough for Buffy to see that little muscle twitch in the space between his neck and clavicle. She jumped at the sight of it, forgetting for a moment that he wouldn't. Not to her.

"If that boy lay a hand on you-" Giles started. Parker didn't. The other boys. If that muscle could twitch because Parker made her cry, she didn't want him to know.

"Don't," Buffy said. After hours of bawling her eyes and mind out, she had found her voice again. "I don't want trouble, I just want…"

"Yes, Buffy?" Joyce tucked a lock of hair behind Buffy's ear and smiled. She was so warm. Buffy could hear her heart beating again. It was there. It was real.

"I can't face him. Or Angel. I can't go back. And I'm so sick of this city. I hate my old house and that diner and my school," Buffy gripped Joyce's arms as she weighed her next words. She was asking for everything. This was her last straw, her saving grace. "I want out."

"Buffy." Joyce held her tightly to her chest. Buffy's sobs came open and loud. Rupert was cleaning his glasses so hard Buffy thought they might shatter. He put them back where they belonged and crouched next to the huddled women. His reassuring pat did little to calm Buffy's nerves, but at least she knew he was there.

"Can we leave?" Buffy looked up at Joyce. For the first time she saw more than kindness and openness. She saw what she remembered seeing in the woman that left her so long ago. There was love. "Please? Mommy?"

* * *

To Be Continued...In Sunnydale.

Feel free to leave reviews and commentary. Author Notes (BHS Commentary) will be posted on my blog (linked on the profile).


	2. Chapter One, How

**Author's Note/Disclaimer: **I neglected to mention at the beginning of the previous chapter that this story was inspired by a challenge in the Elysian Fields archive. I'll copy that challenge at the end of the fic. More information can be found on my blog.

From this point on, there will be a bit of musical inspiration for the story. Each chapter will be named for a track on the album _I Love You._ by The Neighborhood. There will be a few thematic or lyrical tie-ins, but I'll try not to make the influence too heavy. Speaking of heavy, most of the story _probably_ won't be as angsty as the prologue. I make no promises.

Once again, I don't own the characters or the locations (or pieces of the back story, as I've just revealed). I only own most of the plot (and some of the back story.)

* * *

**1. How**

There weren't enough landmarks. The drive from Los Angeles to Sunnydale was only an hour and a half long, but it was empty and quiet. There wasn't enough imagery to fill the space between Buffy's thoughts. She was left musing the existence of a god who would let her get broken and crushed before being tossed to the side. When Rupert made a pathetic attempt to break the car's awkward silence, she tried to put everything she was feeling into a little box.

That was where her broken heart belonged, a little box with a big lock and hidden key. The box took no real shape in her mind's eye. It was unpolished wood that left splinters after being handled. It was smooth, black marble garnished with lilting, curving gold lines. She imagined the dark corner she placed it in. Even she couldn't see the walls her box pressed against; They were drowning in shadows that wrapped her like a warm blanket. That was where she put her broken heart, and the key was buried in her pocket.

"H-have you ever been to Sunnydale, Buffy?" He asked, glancing at her from the rear view mirror.

Buffy could only share a nervous smile before Joyce answered for her. "Rupert, you've asked her that twice already." Twelve times. But who was counting?

"Right. O-of course."

"It's a lovely town," He continued after nearly a minute of silence. "More of a small city, actually."

Buffy had heard the "Welcome to Sunnydale" speech at least ten times in the last five weeks, but she offered no resistance this time. Any distraction was a welcome one, and Giles occasionally said something new. Like, for example, his brand new fact about the recent drop in Sunnydale's unusually high crime rate. That was interesting...and terrifying. With a name like Sunnydale, she really didn't expect too much crime or violence.

All she expected was a semi-normal high school life with a limited social circle, an after-school job at the new Giles & Co. Books, and no boys ever ever for the rest of...forever. It wouldn't be too hard with Cordelia back home in LA, she probably wouldn't have anyone egging on her hormones. Which was good. Hormone Buffy meant bad news. Of course, that didn't stop Cordelia from insisting she should receive every single detail of Buffy's Sunnydale romances when she said her goodbyes.

Cordelia was the only person Buffy had said goodbye to. There really wasn't anyone else. The other cheerleaders didn't speak to her much after "The Incident". She and Giles had no co-workers to take with them or leave behind. Her parents...the originals were gone.

She had good replacements, though. Joyce and Rupert were the family she should have been born into. Even before she left, Buffy's mother would never pull away from her home just to make her daughter feel safe. Sure, Giles' silent company partner had been more than happy to offer Sunnydale as the book store's new home; Joyce found a new gallery to work in within a week of visiting the city, but it was still a lot to ask. Neither one of her new parents gave it a second thought.

"The high school has an excellent cheer leading team I hear-"

"No!" It took a second for Buffy to realize that she had frightened both Rupert and Joyce with her outburst. She settled back into her seat. "No more cheer leading."

"Buffy, you'll need to have some extracurricular activity," Joyce said.

Buffy bit back the argument that she already had a job with Giles & Co. Joyce knew it by heart by now anyway. "I'll find some other activity. It's a high school. There has to be more than cheer leading."

"We have academic clubs, social clubs and sports," A very short and very grumpy principal was informing her four days later. Joyce and Rupert were seated on either side of Buffy, both eyeing the man with almost as much suspicion as he was giving her. "Miss Summers, I highly recommend you find something constructive to do with your time. With your record of absences-"

"Pardon me, but none of that should be counted against her. Permanent record or no, Buffy was a victim-" Giles paused in reaction to Buffy's visible wince. He used the word. "Buffy was not at fault, nor were the circumstances of either leave of absence trivial."

"Even if that's true-"

"It is," Joyce said firmly.

Buffy smirked. They wouldn't let this slimy little man get a word in edgewise. They were protecting her.

"Miss Summers," He stressed the name as if it would block all Gileses out of the conversation.

"Mmhm?" Buffy squeaked.

"I expect you to have a perfect attendance record while you're here. If you are absent for more than three consecutive days, you will be expelled," He said. A crooked smile wormed its way across his face. "Do we have an understanding?"

Buffy wasn't sure if the question was directed at her this time or her parents, but she responded before Giles could make a fuss. "Yes. Mr Snyder...sir. Yes, sir."

"Very good. Miss Rosenberg," Snyder directed his attention to the door behind his guests where a red haired girl stood quivering. No one had told her just why she was pulled out of class and Mr. Snyder looked angrier than usual.

"Y-yes sir?" Willow bit her lip. Was that weird to say? This was high school, not the military.

"You'll be taking Miss Summers back to class with you," He shoved a folder into Buffy's hands. "Treat her like a charge."

"Right, sir. I-I mean, yes sir. Mr Snyder...sir."

Buffy tried not to smile. Her new tour guide looked nervous and she didn't want to make it any worse. After giving her parents a quick goodbye and receiving another expulsion threat from Snyder, she slipped out the door behind her chaperon.

"Boy," the red-haired girl said after a few (long) seconds. "Snyder sure laid it on thick. What did you do? I-I mean! N-not that you did anything! You might be completely guilt-free. Like a nun or low calorie yogurt. Are you?"

"Low calorie yogurt?"

"...Guilt free."

"Oh," Buffy considered the events of the past year. On the surface she was the v...one who got hurt, but sometimes she still wondered if there was anything she could have done. "No. But I didn't burn down my last school or anything."

"Oh. Well there's that. Snyder's a bit of a kook anyway. He hates kids."

"All kids?"

"Even man children."

"But he's a-"

"We don't question it anymore. Oh! I'm Willow, by the way," Willow tried to offer a hand for Buffy to shake, but she nearly dropped the pile of books she had insisted on carrying to Buffy's locker.

"Buffy."

"That's such a cool name! Buffy. It's like, kind of old but also kind of peppy and modern!"

"Thank...you?" Buffy tried her best to sound sincere. That was a compliment, in its own way.

"Lunch is in like, ten minutes. We'll probably be excused for the rest of this period, but we can go if you want."

Buffy searched her timetable then shook her head when she came across her current class. "Mm, no. Math is officially cancelled today."

Willow helped Buffy shoved everything into her locker, then proceeded to give her a tour of the campus. Sunnydale High was considerably smaller than Emery. There were hardly any students loitering the halls. According to Willow, Snyder had student spies who roamed the halls and sought out lollygaggers. When the bells rang, everyone knew to keep their butts glued to their chairs.

"This," Willow said as she introduced the second-to-last stop of their tour. "Is our library. I-I know it's small, but it's actually really impressive. Snyder makes students volunteer during free periods, so there's always new stuff being donated. From like, personal libraries, y'know?"

"Huh," Buffy said as she took a look around. God, Giles would love this place. She would have to tell him about her new favorite wing of the school. Maybe Giles & Co. could make a few donations.

The bell rang out, cutting her thoughts short.

Willow led Buffy to the cafeteria, all the while warning her against the unassuming appearance of Sunnydale High gelatin. "You can't trust it, Buffy!" she said at least three times within the space of thirty seconds.

They walked towards a table that looked much more full than Buffy could have expected. A warm tingle ran down Buffy's spine. "You have so many friends." And four of them were boys.

"Oh, well, technically," Willow pointed to a lithe brunette girl. "Fred is my cousin. And Wesley," One of the brunette boys seated around the table. "Is Fred's boyfriend. Gunn," he was bald and thick-framed and Buffy mentally kicked herself for using "black" as an identifier. "Is Wes's friend. Xander," the darkest-coiffed of the brunettes who was giving Buffy the once-over. "Is my very best friend since before I could say big words."

"Or read 'do not eat' labels on paste," Xander quipped. Willow gave him a glare, but Buffy could see she didn't really mean it.

"Dawn and Connor," another brunette couple, these two had blue eyes and looked younger than everyone else at the table. "Are freshmen. We adopted them."

"Adopted?" Buffy said as she took a seat beside Willow. Her friends eyed Buffy with varying degrees of wariness. While not exactly outcasts in the social hierarchy of Sunnydale High, none of them really belonged anywhere. They were all used to humiliation and ridicule. Buffy looked harmless enough, but a wolf could always wear a wool sweater.

"Snyder has this buddy system where we can 'adopt' freshmen and like, lead them around school and encourage them to join our clubs and stuff. I guess it helps the...matriculating process."

So that was what he meant by charge. Buffy was a Senior Freshman.

"Technically, Dawn and Connor belong to Wesley and me," Fred explained in her slightly southern drawl.

"But it takes a village, as they say," Wesley finished. His accent was far more...Giles-y.

"You're English," Buffy mentally slapped herself for saying it out loud. "I mean…"

"No, you are very right. I am English."

There was a mini-Giles in her new group. How odd. Knowing nothing about her, Buffy could imagine Fred was a mini-Joyce, which would make Dawn a mini-Buffy and- The strange train of thought came to sudden halt when Buffy felt another prickle on the back of her neck. She whipped her head around to see a pair of eyes staring right into her.

It took a few seconds to register the existence of anything but those eyes. From a distance, she couldn't tell their color. What she could tell was that they were piercing her. She didn't dare stare back for too long, so she tried to skim the owner of the eyes as quickly as possible. He was lean. She saw that second. The first thing she noticed was that the eyes belonged to a he, which was very, very bad. He looked very, very bad. His bleach-white hair was slicked back with an inordinate amount of hair gel and he seemed to make a point of wearing nothing but black. His tight t-shirt, which gripped chiseled abs that Buffy didn't want to notice, black. His not-as-tight but still noticeably tight jeans, black. His scuffed-up really punk boots, black. Worst of all was his long black leather coat. Against his pearly white skin, he looked like he was dressed for his own funeral.

"Who is he?" Buffy said to no one in particular.

Xander answered first with an audible groan. Willow took over when it seemed that was all he had to say. "That's Spike. H-he's...trouble."

"Trouble?"

"The kid starts fights, Buff; he's completely off his nut! Guy thinks he's The Punisher or something," Xander finally expounded.

"Oh."

"That's it? You're not going to give her both sides of the story?" Fred chimed in.

"What sides? He beats people up and smokes and drinks."

"There's more to him than bad habits, Xander."

"Fred, you say that as if his brutish behavior is as simple as a nail-biting habit," Wesley said.

Dawn and Connor shifted uncomfortably as the conversation built tension within the group. As freshmen, they didn't know much about Spike at. Dawn tried to recall the time he defended her from bullies on her first day, but the older kids were very involved in their debate. Eventually she and Connor shuffled away, Dawn giving Buffy a nervous smile as her good-bye. No one seemed to notice but Buffy and Gunn.

"You can't summarize a human being using nothing but negative traits!" Fred's voice caused a few nearby heads to turn. She dropped it to a harsh whisper. "Especially when at least one of them can be explained with little difficulty."

Buffy felt like the group was talking in circles to avoid sharing something important. She tried her best to pay attention to what existed between the lines, but her thoughts and eyes kept moving back to Spike himself. He was still staring at her, the creepy, cocky, sexy- not sexy. No sexy. Bastard. Something about his face had changed. His gaze was just as sharp but his lips, he was smiling. The jerk was amused by the argument. Buffy hissed quietly and shot up from the table. She needed to be far away from his stupid face- with its high cheekbones and full lips- far away from any mention of him at all.

She wasn't sure how many of them noticed that she practically fled the scene. The debate had caught aflame by the time she'd left. After four and a half minutes nursing a slight headache, she figured it might be time to step out of the bathroom stall. Before she could open the door, it vibrated under a light knock.

"Um...Buffy?"

"Yeah, Willow?"

"You...okay in there?" Willow couldn't help but wonder if her new friend was bulimic...or worse.

"Yeah, I just," Buffy opened the door and gave an apprehensive smile. "I'm tired. It's a lot of new stuff to take in. New city, new house, new school. New...people."

"Right," Willow nodded. "New information overload. Computers need a reboot after updates and so do Buffys!"

Buffy laughed. The imagery of a Buffybot was hard to take seriously. "Sort of. Just processing." And avoiding every possible thought involving Sir Stares-A-Lot.

"Well, we could hang out after school today! I could help you process new lessons and stuff."

"Oh," Buffy winced slightly. "I can't. New job too. Well, old job in new place."

"Huh?"

"My...dad. He owns a bookstore that I need to help him move into."

"Oh that's weird," Willow said. "Wesley's dad's bookstore just moved into town. Though, he's kind of a silent partner."

"Huh," Buffy said, calculating things for the second time that day.

* * *

Willow had followed Buffy to the book store that afternoon. They talked about how Willow's social circle had immediately expanded as soon as Fred arrived in Sunnydale.

"Once upon a time, Xander was the only person who would talk to me," Willow confessed.

"So he's your best friend by default?" Buffy wondered if she had crossed a line when the conversation paused for a moment.

Willow just shook her head. "There's a lot more to Xander than what people see outside."

They stopped at the door of the new Giles & Co. The store rested in a nook between a well populated cafe and a hardware store. It needed a new coat of paint, and the hinges on the door were rusting, but there was already a tastefully hand carved sign hanging above the door.

Once inside, Willow proved to be a better employee than Buffy. She helped Giles set up the computer's point of sale system and was more than happy to inform Giles of the school library's need for new books. With Willow and Rupert deep in conversation, Buffy was left alone.

She was alone again now, in front of her locker at school. It was moments like this when she forgot Angel wasn't perfect and wished he was there to wrap her up in his strong arms. At some point, she had to remind herself that he was gone, not real, and her knees would turn weak. The floor would slip beneath her a little bit. She would catch herself before those eyes had the chance to observe what was happening.

Spike hadn't stopped staring. He made no moves towards her, but no matter what she did for the following week, he stared. Just by watching her, he must have been learning so much. She had friends who doted over her and asked her every possible question about living in LA. She twirled her hair in American History whenever she thought she might zone out. At lunch, she always denied the gelatin. It didn't seem fair, that he must have known so many little things about her. Buffy had yet to learn his last name or the names of the two kids he usually could be spotted with.

"So that's how I got stuck on the Halloween dance committee," Willow finished a story that Buffy wished she had listened to.

"Willow, I asked you why I am on the committee," Xander reminded her.

"Because I need help, and you're my friend and you have nothing better to do with your time anyway," She answered with a curt nod.

"I'm hurt, Willow. I'm shocked, offended and bruised inside."

"Is that a no, then?" Willow sighed.

"No, it's a yes. I don't have anything better to do anyway."

"Buffy?"

"Hm?" Buffy tried not to notice Spike at the other end of the hall. His friends must have grown accustomed to being ignored for minutes at a time; The busty brunette had the tiny fair-haired boy in a headlock and neither seemed to notice Spike's stare. "Y-yeah, I guess."

"You'll volunteer?" Willow looked like she might squeal.

Buffy nodded and smiled a little. "It counts as an extracurricular, and I don't have to play chess or baseball. I'm there."

With all of the madness that surrounded her previous school year, the only dance Buffy had attended was the Junior Prom. She came alone, in a dress every cheerleader knew she was supposed to wear to the Spring Fling. More than anything, she wanted to be strong and hold her head high. She wanted to prove to everyone that she could face the crowd despite all the awful rumors; She could face him. The truth, of course, was that she couldn't face him. As soon as Buffy had spotted Angel, she sprinted to the girls' bathroom and lost every drop of fruit punch. By Monday, everyone knew.

Buffy took a deep breath. That was then. She had a fresh start here. As long as she didn't let anyone get in the way of her coveted healing process, she could breathe.

* * *

To Be Continued...on Halloween

Additional commentary can be found on the blog (linked on my profile). Feel free to ask questions. Reviews are super appreciated.


	3. Chapter Two, Afraid

**Author's Note: **This was supposed to go up like four hours ago, I'm sorry.**  
**

So many people in Chapter One! (Can you believe it might get worse?) If you think I'm not reading reviews, you're wrong. I'm glad you guys like the Giles/Wes connection. I'm a bit too proud of it. The majority of the group was brought in because of the challenge. I added Faith, Andrew and Gunn for my own reasons. I know, my post-epilogue chapters are fairly short (2000-5000 each). I'm not trying to write an epic. (It's more like an extended drabble...)

It would be pretty awesome if I owned the copyright to the characters, locations and such, but I don't.

* * *

**2. Afraid**

_"You're mine and I love you."_

_"I can show you how much I love you."_

_"I want to see all of you."_

_"Buffy."_

"Buffy!" She was Buffy. "Buffy, are you up? I made pancakes!"

"I'm...I'm up!"

Buffy tried to recapture where her mind had traveled overnight, but it was gone. There was an ache in the pit of her abdomen. She wanted more than anything for the pain to be hunger, but she knew exactly what she was feeling. Her insides had been torn out and replaced with an insistence that she was fine. It was the ache she started to feel the day her mother walked out on her and Hank.

She rushed to the bathroom and took a long look in the mirror once she got there. She was still Buffy. She was Buffy with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, and hazel green eyes. She still had Buffy's slender nose bridge with the tiny bulb at the bottom, and her somewhat thin, but perfectly, pouty mouth. Everything she could see told her that she was no less Buffy than she had been yesterday, or the day before. Everything she could feel, however, told her otherwise. Buffy could only feel that ache in her tummy, and it told her that she wasn't Buffy. Not really.

* * *

Buffy could be Harmony. A year ago Buffy Summers was a lot like Harmony Kendall, at least when she was with friends. Harmony had long, pale blonde hair, a coveted position at the top of the cheer pyramid, and a need to make the dance as perfect as possible. Harmony's method of getting everyone to pay attention during the dance committee meeting was cruel, but at least she had a goal.

"I can't believe Snyder sent a bunch of bottom feeders to help plan a dance," Harmony scoffed. "It's just wrong."

"That's rude," Willow muttered.

"No one asked you to be president, Harmony," Xander said. "You could always just relinquish your title."

"Or be impeached," Willow continued speaking under her breath.

Besides Buffy, Willow and Xander, the group was made up of Harmony and her friends. Most of them didn't have much to offer in the way of innovation. They spent most of the meeting texting whoever else was included in their social circle, and mindlessly agreeing with Harmony's opinions.

"Oh really? Who else is going to be president? You losers can't even come up with a good theme!" Harmony yelled, stomping one red pump on the tiled floor of the classroom. Even sitting down, the action managed to startle her posse.

"It's Halloween! The theme is Halloween!" Xander said. "You decorate the gym in orange and black, play some spooky music, and wear store-bought costumes!"

"That's completely lame!"

"Even I have to agree," Willow shuffled in her chair.

Xander reeled back with a face that indicated he had seen the worst betrayal of his life. "Willow!"

"We do the same thing for every dance, every year. Last year, half the school wore the same costumes as the year before and only Harmony noticed!" She shifted in her seat again and looked down in shame. "I don't like it, but...I agree with Harmony."

Only Xander could understand just how much Willow hated agreeing with the bubble blonde cheer leader. Harmony had made her life a living hell for at least the last twelve years. She made a point of mocking anything Willow said or did. Willow had a list of insecurities that she could trace back to the first time Harmony made fun of her for crying over a broken crayon in kindergarten. It was then that Xander befriended her for the first time, initiating a silent protest against Harmony. They had an agreement to never, ever value the young socialite's opinion.

"Good. At least I have one socially-challenged elf on my side," Harmony said. She looked over at Buffy. "What about you, the nineties horror movie reject?"

"Buffy," She looked down at her outfit and grimaced. Harmony wasn't wrong. In the midst of her identity crisis that morning, Buffy tried to cover herself in anything that would drown her frame. She wore a jumpsuit (that in retrospect, resembled overalls) over a long-sleeved t-shirt. Buffy shook the memory of her morning away and answered,"Fear."

"What?"

"The theme for the Halloween dance. We come dressed as our worst fear."

"Well that's-"

"Exactly how producers market Halloween every year," Xander said, smiling at Buffy. "We did a haunted house a few years ago. It's the same."

Buffy was grateful for the back-up, but he was wrong. It wasn't the same. Haunted houses could be scary, but walking around as the very thing you don't want to face is terrifying. Most kids would probably come as a horror movie cliche, a few girls may try to make cockroaches seem skimpy or sexy, but it wasn't the same as looking in the mirror and seeing what made your nightmares real.

"Right."

"Fine, that's as good a theme as any, I guess," Harmony conceded. "I'm so glad I came up with it."

Willow's jaw dropped. "Harmony, you can't be serious!"

"Oh this _wasn't_ my idea?" Harmony glared in Willow's direction. "I'm sure when you tell everyone that at the dance on Friday, they'll listen to whatever you have to say. You're that important."

Willow slumped in her chair. Xander reached over to pat her on the shoulder. It wouldn't matter if they turned the argument around on Harmony. There was no prize to win. Buffy tried to replay the memories she had of being at the top of the ladder. She couldn't recall if she had ever been cruel, or even disrespectful. It might have happened once, maybe twice, but Buffy could barely place herself back inside the mind of Buffy Summers, cheer leader. She wasn't sure she existed anymore. The ache in her gut gripped her tight. Buffy could be Harmony Kendall; Harmony couldn't be Buffy Summers.

* * *

The gym was covered in store bought Halloween decorations, exactly the way Xander predicted it would be. A second meeting regarding decor had ended in Harmony yelling at the three to figure it out themselves. In a panic, Willow had called Fred and the gang and begged them to pick up anything and everything they could afford. Fred and Dawn had stayed to help put everything together. They brought along two new people for Buffy to meet. They were nice girls but Buffy was so wrapped up in her anxiety, she could barely remember their names.

She would have felt guilty on another day, standing in the corner and avoiding everyone. As it was now, though, Buffy couldn't find it in her to care. The way she saw it, that was exactly what her new clique had come to expect of her. They would never say it, but she knew she made them uncomfortable. Buffy Summers was supposed to be bubbly and sparkly. Yet here she was, standing against a wall watching Xander the Clown chat up a giant rabbit and Willow the pop star talk to a shy girl in a suit. Everyone she spoke to was paired up with someone. Even Gunn, the most single of them all, had found a young woman with brightly highlighted hair and a red spandex outfit to talk to.

Half of the costumes made no sense to her. That was the point, she supposed, to start conversations; to do something different with this event. Still, no one had bothered to even ask her about the uniform and wig. The general consensus was that Buffy came as Harmony in silent protest. It would have given her the wiggins if she hadn't drawn the same comparison four days ago.

It shouldn't have made a difference to her when none of her friends followed her out the wide doors of the gymnasium, but it made her stomach ache. No matter where she turned, there were reminders that a new start didn't mean a clean slate.

Sunnydale High School was the most desolate building she had ever known. On an average school day, she could hear her steps echo on the rules of the hallway. Every whisper would be carried if it was spoken between classes. So when someone with a very heavy step decided to follow Buffy into the hall, it wasn't hard to track their movement. No matter where she stepped, they were on her heels. She decided almost immediately that it couldn't be a friend; they made no effort to speak to her. So when a hand touched her shoulder after minutes of chase, she lashed out and unleashed a small but angry fist.

Spike caught the arm at the wrist before the girl he had been following could shatter his nose. She tried to pull back, but he held her wrist tight. "Ah. If I let this go, you have to promise not to go around attacking defenseless strangers."

Buffy couldn't help it. She laughed. "Defenseless? I'm _so_ sure." She swallowed. There had been a better response in mind, but she couldn't seem to find it now that he was tracing circles around her pulse point. The simple touch was setting her blood on fire. She was molten inside, and the heat was rising to her face. "You know, this stalker routine is getting old."

"Been waiting for me to make a move, have you?" He tilted his head to the side.

She tried not to frown when he dropped her arm. Someone should have warned her about the accent. It wasn't English like Giles or Wesley. It was a different kind of English. It was ...completely resistible. She could resist his accent, and his surprisingly cool hands, his bruised but by no means less beautiful cheekbones and his very blue eyes. It sent a shiver down her spine to know that she was finally seeing them up close. A bad shiver, a shiver that meant something when nothing he did was supposed to mean anything.

"The only thing I've been waiting for is for you to...stop doing the creepy stare thing."

"You sure about that, luv?"

"Don't call me that! And leave me alone."

Buffy spun around on one heel and made her way back to the gym. She was certain that Spike would continue his gross routine of staring her down whenever she was anywhere within the vicinity, but at least know he knew it made her uncomfortable. If anything Xander said was true, Spike couldn't care less about Buffy's comfort. She tried to fight the urge, but she needed to to know (that was safe, right? Just knowing?). She had to ask someone who had been silent so far.

* * *

Buffy approached Gunn after History on Monday, her face a mask of steely resolve. He seemed more than a little surprised that she was choosing to speak to him outside of a group. No matter how bitter that tasted, she couldn't blame him. Buffy only ever sought out Willow and Xander when she was alone.

"If you're looking for a tutor, I probably can't help."

She tried not to let her mind linger over the thought that she probably really needed a History tutor. Buffy had pulled Gunn aside for business. Okay, not so much business as a desperate need for information, but still. History tutelage was a side track.

"Actually," She bit her lip. "I...can't believe I'm about to say this. I want to know more about Spike."

"Is that right? Can't help you." He turned to walk away, but Buffy jumped in front of him before he could get very far.

"I know that look on your face. I wear it all the time. I have like three in my closet." Gunn didn't offer her anything at all, so she tried a slightly different approach. "When everyone was fighting in the cafeteria, you were really quiet. And I've seen you talking to his female friend."

"Faith."

"Aha! You know a thing."

"I know a few things. But it's not my place to spread the man's business all over school."

"Who's spreading? This isn't a spread. It's a jam. I'm not gossiping. He's been staring at me all creepy-like and following me around. I deserve to know more. For my safety." Gunn's jaw relaxed just a little and he looked to the side. Buffy rocked back on her heels a bit, trying to avoid the excitement that always came with getting her way. She hated how proud she always felt when she could wear somebody down.

"He wouldn't hurt you anyway, that's not his style." The only thing Buffy knew about his style is that it reminded her of old rock stars. She didn't get a chance to interrupt before Gunn continued, "The others were right when they said he's a fighter, but it's not like that. He only starts shit with people who deserve it. He goes for bullies, criminals, that type."

"But he does start fights?" Any person willing to start a fight willing to start a fight without being provoked was a person Buffy probably needed to avoid. Her toes curled when she realized that she didn't like that thought too much. "So he's dangerous?"

"Nah...well, if you're on his wrong side." Gunn released a laugh that blended sounds both cynical and joyful. It was unsettling. He seemed to be consumed by a joke she didn't know and probably couldn't understand. "I've been there and believe me, you probably never will be. Got to do some bad things."

"Spike beat _you_ up?" Spike looked tough, and he sported bruises almost every day, but Gunn appeared to be brick where Spike was a blade. It would take quite a bit of force to strike true.

"He wasn't really Spike back then. Was just some nerdy little loser named William. Man, I hated that kid. Looking back, I don't even know why. I kind of hated everybody. But there was this stupid little English kid with his poetry, and no friends and weird hair. Man, even his accent was different back then. He kind of sounded like Wes, I guess. Used to beat the crap out of him any chance I got. I wasn't alone in that, exactly, just...the worst of 'em. 'Course eventually, the kid snapped and hit me back. No one really messed with him after that."

Buffy's eyes must have been bulging more than she realized, because Gunn was now staring back on at her as if he could read minds. She had made friends with a group of strangers and all of them neglected to inform her that Gunn was violent. No matter where she turned, Buffy seemed to find the ones who start fights. It should have bothered her that her train of thought was showing on every inch of her expression, but she needed Gunn to know she wasn't comfortable with this information.

"Don't look at me like that," He said. "I was fucked up back then. Was going through some shit. Besides, me and Spike, we're alright now. Bonded and whatnot. You got all your answers?"

"I don't know. I didn't really have any questions."

"I noticed."

Gunn didn't wait for Buffy to mull over things. He moved on without a second thought, leaving Buffy to consider memories she never even had. Spike had been a shy poet with a proper accent at some point in his life. Was the change recent? What made him snap? Did he have any friends to talk to back then? _Why_ did she care?

* * *

After a few days of sorting and re-sorting the image of "William" Gunn had placed in her head, Buffy decided she needed to stop playing mind-secretary and give it a rest. There was no file in her brain for "William" because she never knew him, and he just didn't fit with what she gathered about Spike. They were like two different people. The thought of it alone was enough to drive her insane, not that she needed any help in that department lately. Once she gave up hope of trying to figure it all out, her days went by a little easier. She allowed Spike to slip into the background of her mind while she focused on more important things, like making plans to shop with Willow on Friday.

"Please, Willow? I need new shoes, and a girls' day!" Cordelia would never have hesitated for this long. But then, Willow was turning her down so nicely. Cordy wouldn't do that either.

"It's just...I was hoping to spend some time with Tara. Like, get to know her, y'know?"

"Willow, you spend time with Tara every day," Buffy bit her lip. Maybe that was insensitive. Willow's nose was wrinkling. "Take her with you! And when the shopping is over, you guys can go to that coffee shop.

"The Espresso Pump?"

"Yeah! Like a date. It would be a date, right?" Buffy had been so out of the loop lately. She wouldn't be surprised to find out that she was completely misreading cues.

"Yeah, I guess it kinda would."

"Good! So we can head to the shops and then...there is a small man in front of me."

He wasn't remarkably small. To be honest, he had an inch of height over Willow and Buffy both. She was probably just accustomed to spending time with guys who made her look tiny. The small blond teen in front her was now fidgeting incessantly. She had a knee-jerk reaction of annoyance with his presence. It hit her then why she recognized him. This was Spike's small friend.

"Can I help you, little man?"

"Yes, well, fair...maiden," This was already an uncomfortable conversation. "I have been tasked with requesting your presence here after school..."

"Cut the weird fancy speech, what are you saying?"

"Oh, I'm saying that my friend Spike wants to talk to you after school."

"And he couldn't tell me this himself because?"

The short kid only shrugged. He fidgeted again for a minute until Buffy gave him permission to leave. He must have been waiting for that, because he took off right away.

"You know, Andrew's always strange. But that was really strange," Willow said. "Are you gonna go? I mean, stay?"

"No! I mean, I shouldn't. Maybe I will." That response was a fair representation of Buffy's general Spike feelings. It had been the way she had approached every thought featuring him. She would think about him, decide she shouldn't ever think about him- or any man for that matter- and then proceed to think about him for another few minutes.

"You're going," Willow sighed.

"Come with me?"

Willow's presence provided a protective barrier when Buffy approached Spike in the hallway a few hours later. On the outside of her bubble stood memories of meeting Angel after practice to kiss in the corners of the hall. She could keep that time Riley met her after work and walked her home locked far away. Parker was never on the forefront, but there was not a sliver of hope that she would recall taking him home after school that day. No, she wasn't thinking about any of them at all. And she definitely, definitely was not thinking of Spike that way. At all.

Oh. He was standing right in front of her. It was so much easier to not think "Spike" when she was not seeing Spike. It hadn't been a minute since he stepped around the corner, and she already had Spike brain. What was happening to her?

"Do you want to tell me what this weird 'Deep Throat' routine is about?" Buffy said. She held her breath at the pop culture reference. It would be so easy for him to turn that one around.

"You said I was making you uncomfortable. Thought I'd take a step back, let you suss things out."

"What things?"

"Well for one, whether you were willing to talk to me."

"And if I didn't show up after school today, what would you do? Keep following me around school like a stalker? Your plan is severely flawed and gross."

"Oi! Haven't been stalkin' you. I lurk and gaze. It's an entirely different vibe."

"Whatever," Buffy rolled her eyes. She had half a mind to walk away from him. It's what Buffy the Cheerleader would have done. This guy was a creepy loser, completely unworthy of her time. The other half of her mind, however, was distracted by the way his head tilted and his eyes became softer somehow without losing their intensity. He seemed almost inhuman with that expression, vulnerable and powerful. He stomach clenched. He looked perfect. She reached for anything she could to knock that expression away. "You fight, right?"

Buffy could almost hear Willow twitch behind her, or maybe it was the little voice in the back of her head that had begun to sound a little like Willow.

"I, uh...yeah, I fight," He was excited and nervous. It was oozing off of him. Good. Buffy had managed to throw him off-balance.

"I want you to teach me." Wrong choice. As quickly as his balance was thrown, it had come back. He was like a hot British boomerang. Spike took a step forward and his gaze became something deeper, more intentional than even his piercing stare. He was leering at her. She tried her best not to turn to goo as she folded her arms in front of her and tilted her chin upwards. If he was going to be lusty Spike, she would be defiant Buffy.

"Teach you what, luv?" He asked her. Well that just wasn't fair. His words carried more heat than his eyes, and they were very close to lighting her aflame from the inside out. There was a warmth in the core of her that felt familiar and altogether unwelcome. And now his face was closing the distance between them.

"To fight, perv." She extended one hand to push him a good distance away from her. If she could put a foot or two between them, maybe the air would cool a little. She knew it made no sense, nothing in the atmosphere was physically hot, but it did help to know he couldn't touch her quite so easily.

"I can only think of one thing I'd like more than a good rough and tumble," He said with a wink. "Fightin' lessons it is." Before Buffy could respond to him, or turn swiftly on her heel, Spike was making his way down the opposite end of the corridor.

Willow rushed to her side as soon as Spike was out of earshot. She leaned in and whispered, "Did you just ask him out?"

"No! I asked him..." Buffy's stomach lurched. Maybe she was losing herself after all.

* * *

To Be Continued...at The Bronze (tomorrow. I apologize for my inactivity loves.)

Feel free to check out my blog for more Author's Notes and updates. (If you don't see me for a while, my blog might tell you why.)


	4. Chapter Three, Everybody's Watching Me

**Author's Note: **I am sorry. I meant to have this up two days ago. **  
**

Warning: This chapter calls back to some of the abuse in the Prologue.

* * *

**3. Everybody's Watching Me**

_"You're my girl, Buffy." Desperate, pleading eyes. She should stay. He'll calm down if she stays. But there's blood on his face. His contorted, twisted face. He won't forgive the broken lamp or the blood. Why does he even want her to stay?_

_"Yes, Angel." Breathe deep. Turn the other cheek. No. Run. "I'm your girl." Breathe. Don't beg. He hates it when she begs. No, not him. Daddy. He looks just like Daddy. "And I'll be your girl tomorrow and the next day." Will she? Will she stay? She stayed before. For so long. "Just let me go."_

_Rage. Fire in his eyes. The muscle on his forehead is twitching. He catches her on the first step up and grabs her. Choking. She can't breathe and his hands are so big. No more warmth or cradling, just heavy. "You're the sunshine in my life, Buffy. My Sunshine."_

_"An..anjAHFF!" Her head hits the ground before she can brace it. She turns to him with fire in her eyes. "I am not your girl."_

_He snaps._

* * *

For the first time since Angel gutted her with his betrayal, Buffy could feel herself again. The eyes of her friends were on her as her movements fused to the rhythms of the music. She wished she could say she was surprised by their shock, but Buffy had yet to show anyone in Sunnydale her true self. She wasn't even sure this was her true self anymore. She liked whoever it was, though, and she was grateful to Willow and Xander for inviting her to let it out.

It had only been a few hours ago. With the spark of life she discovered, Buffy felt she'd have to travel through a lifetime to reach her girls' day out. Willow had brought Tara with her, just as Buffy suggested. The two barely had time to communicate with each other between Buffy's shoe recommendations and squeals of excitement. According to Buffy, shopping for shoes was an important bonding ritual in the early stages of female friendships. She could tell that Willow and Tara weren't as enthusiastic, but she chalked it up to their lack of an intimate date. They would have plenty of time to make kissy faces later. Right now, Willow _had_ to try on these pink slingbacks.

Buffy had to give her new best friend props. She had been nothing less than compliant for three hours before Buffy finally walked the pair to The Espresso Pump. Actually, the two had been nothing short of mute the entire time. The silence was almost as bad as that tactic Cordelia would pull whenever she expected Buffy to spill a pretty secret. The other tactic, the one where she would talk Buffy's ears off, usually worked much better. Buffy tried not to frown. If it turned out the two were being quiet for couple-y reasons, she would be paranoid and prying. Still, she had bought them each a pair of gorgeous semi-formal sandals. They kind of owed her, at least a little.

"Okay, what is up with the funny silence?"

"What funny silence? There's no funny silence!" Willow squeaked. So it was Buffy-related speechlessness.

"You're right. It's totally serious silence. What did I do?" Maybe it was something minuscule and Buffy was augmenting molehills. "Is it the shoes? Do you not like the shoes?"

"We like the shoes!" Willow's tone was nervous, and defensive. She clung to the shopping bag like it was the last one on earth. "Right, Tara, the shoes are good?"

Tara offered a nod and her trademark soft smile. "I h-haven't had n-new shoes in a...while."

Buffy couldn't help but smile back. Tara's smile did that; It was like a heated blanket, all comfort and warmth. "Okay, so not the shoes. What, then?"

Willow looked over at Tara again, and Tara nodded her encouragement. "Spike."

"Spike?" Buffy ran the word over her mouth. It tasted wrong, unwelcome. "Spike?"

"Well, yeah, Spike. You guys did that weird secret meeting the other day and you talked to him about fighting and stuff. Hasn't he been staring at you and following you around? I don't get it. Why are you agreeing to meet up with him again? Is that safe?"

"I..." Willow had unloaded an avalanche of concealed emotions. She shared everything with Xander, as far as Buffy knew. She made a note to avoid Xander's potential line of questioning. "Okay, first of all, wow. That was heavy. Secondly, I've been...through some stuff. I want to learn to defend myself. And _Gunn_ told me that Spike was good at defending." Buffy made a point of emphasizing her recent interaction with Gunn. If Willow or anyone else had been completely honest with her from the start, this might have been avoided. Had she known the whole truth from the start, she might not have been so obsessed- except she wasn't obsessed! She didn't even care!

"Okay, I guess," Willow still wasn't meeting Buffy in the eyes. Partnered with the return of her silence, it seemed like a pretty big sign of something still being wrong. Buffy folded her arms and pursed her lips. That always did the trick with Cordelia...after an hour or so. "I think you like him!"

"Ugh!" Buffy "I do not like Spike. Liking Spike? Not even a thing. Not even a little thing! No. Very no." She couldn't deny that she had been thinking about him a lot lately, but that was because he left her all high and dry before! They made some arrangement for her to have fight lessons, but nothing was organized. He didn't give her his phone number, or tell her where to meet him. Buffy didn't like Spike, she just wanted to sort out what information she needed to get from him on Monday. That was all.

Tara bit her gum to hide the little smile, but Buffy managed to find it. Willow was shuffling her feet, but she didn't object. She looked up behind Buffy."Oh, and the other thing!"

"Other thing?" Sometime between the shopping bag clutching and Buffy's insistent "no's", the three had taken a seat at one of the tall cafe tables.

"The bronze thing," a voice responded. Buffy flinched for a second when a familiar hand grasped her shoulder. The semi-intimate touch was gone as soon as it came. "Sorry."

Buffy winced. It had to be rough for Xander. He never got too close without making her shudder, and it had nothing to do with him at all. "Sorry," she echoed. "What bronze thing?"

"No, uh, The Bronze. It's only the best club in Sunnydale."

"Xander, it's the only club in Sunnydale," Willow corrected. "But it is a lot of fun! Everyone's going out tonight, you should come!"

There was a leap in Buffy's chest. Well, that was a good sign, heart leaping. She could totally do this clubbing thing. She could dress up, she could dance, she could have fun for once. Besides, she hadn't been to a party since...the summer. She ducked away from the three pairs of eyes, all watching her with varying levels of expectancy. It was her own fault for thinking she could jump right into having friends again. She needed time to heal. That's what people did when they were traumatized, right? They took time off to heal?

"I don't know, guys," she eventually said. "I don't know if I'm party-ready."

"Well, if Tara here is, why wouldn't you be?" Xander gave Tara a little elbow nudge. Buffy was almost positive his comment was meant to be harmless, but Willow had grabbed Tara's hand almost immediately.

"I...have reasons."

"You don't have to go, if you really don't want to," Willow's eyes assumed the appearance of saucers. The intention was probably to imitate a sad puppy, but she looked more like a frightened alien. Her pout was rather convincing, though.

"I want to go!" Buffy said in her own defense, and it wasn't a lie. She wanted more than anything to be comfortable stepping out of her bubble. Bubbles were safe though; She had no idea what she could be facing on the other side of it.

"Then what's stopping you, Buff? Not us." He stood between Willow and Tara, and slung his arm around their shoulders. Willow and Xander gave Buffy large, pleading smiles and Tara had to stifle a laugh. "C'mon. You'll love the buffalo wings!"

"Well, why didn't you tell me there'd be wings?" Buffy joked. "Always open with wings!"

Buffy hadn't eaten a single chicken wing all night, but she had danced with every guy friend in their circle. She even danced with Xander's friend Anya when she had started to receive a pointed, jealous glare. The girl on girl action not only turned Xander's attention to back Anya, it reassured the other girl that a dance was just a dance for Buffy. Buffy made note to let Xander know he had potential girlfriend material right in front of him. He was probably oblivious, since he had gotten a little hands-y during his dance. Buffy had to pat herself on the back for only squirming when it got intense.

Of all the male friends, Gunn was definitely the easiest to dance with. For one thing, he was a better dancer than Xander, Connor or Wesley. For another, he didn't have a jealous paramour sending painfully sharp looks Buffy's way. Buffy was still linked with him when she felt a soft tap on the shoulder. She knew she had spun around too fast when she spotted a pair of glacial blue eyes. His lips were pursed, and his sharp cheekbones were threatening to break through the skin. There was a moment when his eyes met Buffy's when his face because almost soft, but he swallowed it down and resumed his all-business expression. He allowed himself a moment to let his eyes slither over her small frame, before finally looking up at Gunn. Buffy blinked and looked over at Willow and Xander. She had opened herself up to Spike's inspection. It warmed her at the core, lit a fire in her that made her pulse race and her legs vibrate with an anticipation she didn't recognize. Her friends had seen every second of it.

"There's twelve on the back lot," He told Gunn.

"Twelve? Someone got a birthday or something?"

Spike smiled down at Buffy. It was something mischievous and secretive. "New recruit."

* * *

After ten minutes of walking, Buffy decided that the "back lot" was meant to be some kind of secret. They hadn't exactly stepped into the wrong side of town (if Sunnydale had one of those), but they were moving between the compact alleys of a few taller buildings. If she was supposed to feel safe with a strong fighter on either side of her, something was wired wrong. Buffy didn't know Gunn well enough to believe that he wouldn't abduct her and she definitely wasn't putting it past Spike. The heart echoed its pace from that moment of eye contact at The Bronze. Except now, every beat was signalling her to run far, far away from her two possible kidnappers. This was a dumb idea, and she wouldn't have gone anywhere if the others didn't make Gunn out to be so safe. Even Xander barely protested when they left together. He did give Spike a nasty glare, which was returned in kind.

"You guys aren't kidnapping me, right?" Buffy tried to keep a touch of humor in her voice.

Spike snorted before turning around to leer at her. "Not that the idea isn't enticing, but I wouldn't bring company. At least, not him." Gross. She would have to make a mental note that Spike could go from hot to creepy to mega-creepy in seconds flat.

Gunn looked down at her and then over at Spike. "You didn't tell her? Man, you can't just throw her in!"

"We'll see about that," He said. They were facing a fence with a large hole torn out of it. There was a street light flickering beyond it, but Buffy couldn't see much else. The smudges of shadow could be people. Spike pulled back the edges of the hole to avoid scratching Buffy up while he pushed her through it. He nudged her to step forward as he followed behind her. Once she took a few steps forward, Buffy could see the abandoned parking lot that Gunn and Spike had brought her too. There was a small section of the lot lit by a street lamp, and underneath it a crowd had gathered. Most of them looked tough. Black leather must have been the unofficial uniform, because almost everyone was wearing it. Andrew looked like the odd man out, with his denim jacket and camcorder. "As you all might have guessed from the message I sent last night, we've got a guest!"

Buffy did not want to be Spike's guest. She did not want to be his student either, if it meant crawling through back alleys and getting glared down by a mass of thuggish teenagers. "I..." The kids had started forming a messy circle as soon as they saw Spike approach. Buffy took a stab in the dark and guessed that he was the leader here. He pushed her into the empty space between all the spectators and her gut leaped into her throat.

"Faith," He called out. Buffy could barely hear him over the sound of her own regret. She should never have trusted this jerk. This creepy, stalk-y jerk. And she didn't even really know Gunn, Buffy reminded herself. Now she was going to get jumped as some twisted initiation into a gang, all because she couldn't stay away from the hot- not hot, not remotely hot- guy who paid attention to her. Violence, everything always ended in violence. And turning the other cheek? Probably not too handy when there are a ton more people around you.

"Are you deaf? Put your dukes up, B," Faith was saying to her. Buffy held her fists in front of her chest, no longer fully aware of what was going on. When Faith swung at her the first time, she reached her mark. The sting of her cheek woke Buffy up right away and she swung back a few times, never quite hitting Faith. It felt like a slow dance for the few few minutes. Buffy fell into a rhythm that distracted her from the onlookers, most of whom were cheering Faith on. After a while, though, the brunette got antsy and delivered a strong blow to Buffy's bottom lip. "Wake up Sunshine!"

_She snapped. _

_"Don't you ever!" A blow to the eye, fist wrapped around the collar. Buffy didn't know how she got to be on top of her opponent or when Faith had started cackling, but the sudden awareness only drove more rage into her. "Ever! Call me by that name!" She pulled the collar of Faith's shirt back before slamming her head into the rough pavement, the broken ground. Buffy slammed her fist into the girl's face. And again. And again. She was still laughing, she wouldn't stop laughing. The spectators all cheering or calling out for help, or staying completely silent. No matter what anyone else was saying, Faith was laughing._

_The brunette pulled Buffy down to her by the back of her head until their faces nearly touched. "What's the matter Sunshine? Not feeling too bright?"_

_The muscle in Buffy's forearm twitched. She felt it. She felt the twitch of a muscle and it almost stopped her from striking out again. Almost._

Buffy sat on the curb, trying to make the bits of time fit together until she had a picture of what happened in the back lot. It was no use, she was left with a puzzle. When she ran off, Faith had been clutching her nose and laughing like a hyena. Buffy would have tried to wipe the blood away, but then her clothes would be stained in a way that might actually leave Joyce questioning her. Joyce and Giles had been nothing short of sweet ever since they moved. They didn't quite hover over her, but they watched her closely whenever they were around. It was as if they were expecting some kind of PTSD flashbacks or...what happened tonight. There was no way she could let them know. She had to get the blood off of her knuckles and drown her face in makeup before she got home. If she could even find her way back, that was.

"That was brilliant!" No. Not him, not here, not now.

"Get away from me, Spike." Buffy would have walked away from him if she could find the strength to stand. At least his presence told her that she hadn't gotten to far from the lot.

"And why the bloody hell would I do that, Slayer?"

"What?" She found the energy to look up at him and immediately regretted it. Spike's face was lit up like he'd just witnessed the second coming. He looked charming and boyish, and it was disgusting. No one should get this much out of watching someone else get pummeled.

"Slayer," He repeated. "It's what they're calling you back there. Faith's idea, actually. Think she enjoyed it more than anyone else."

"Ew," Buffy tore her eyes away from Spike and looked down at her knuckles. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"Not her first round in the pen, luv," He said as he sat next to her. She scooted over a few inches to avoid touching knees. "Not her first broken nose, either."

"I told you not to call me that. I broke her nose!"

"Well, yeah. Even the walls of my flat couldn't take that many hits."

"Wrong, just this is so wrong. Oh my god, I'm in a gang. I'm in a gang and my parents are gonna kill me. Do I have to get a tattoo? Do I have to steal things?" Buffy was on the edge of hyperventilation when Spike grabbed her hand. She hated it, but the touch had a soothing effect. She was far from breathing easy, but she wasn't about to experience her first asthma attack either.

"You're not in a bloody gang," Spike said. It should have been reassuring, but it wasn't. She had just beat the crap out of a girl, and she didn't even make it in? Not that she wanted to be in a gang, or anything. It was just a little insulting. "It's a fight club."

"A fight club?" She couldn't help but snort. She pulled her hand away from Spike. Suddenly, Buffy wasn't so insulted "Well that's lame."

"You'd rather a gang?" He didn't allow her an answer. "You asked me to teach you to fight, this is my method. Lesson the first, you're not a victim. At least, you can't think like one if you wanna win the fight."

"So if I stop thinking like a victim, I win?"

"No." Buffy rolled her eyes as he continued, "But it gives you an advantage."

A fight club. It was incredibly lame. Buffy had to wonder if anyone gathered in the lot had ever seen the movie. None if it had ended well for anyone involved. Still, she fought back tonight. She refused to turn the other cheek, and wasn't that some kind of progress?

"I'm not stepping into the ring again," she informed him.

Spike sighed. "Do or don't. That's your choice. The fight? Also in your hands. You can tap out any time you feel like."

"So Faith?"

"Likes the attention. Bloody well swims in it, the barmy chit." He pulled a cigarette out of his coat pocket and placed it between his lips. Buffy threw it on the ground in front of them before he could raise the lighter to it. "Oi!"

"Secondhand kills, moron."

He groaned, but didn't bother to retrieve a second cancer stick. "So you don't like being watched. That's alright, too. Used to hate it myself, but, things were different back then."

"I've heard...William."

His eyes flickered with so many emotions in such a short space of time that Buffy had to stare to catch most of them. There was shock, humiliation, rage, confusion, and then...that soft but intense look she never thought she'd see again. There was something sensual beneath it, but it was mostly...reverent. He was looking at her as if his name had tumbled from the lips of a goddess. She discovered his shameful secret, but he was worthy of her caring to know. The look in his eyes held more intimacy than the way he had held her hand. Buffy gave his shoulder a playful push in hopes of it being knocked off of his face.

"Yeah, well..." He exhaled and turned back to her with a new look, all sex. "Only one activity that calls for you saying that name love, and I'm not sure you want to be screaming it out here."

"You're a pig, Spike."

"Just call me Babe," He said with a wink. He stood up and took a few steps away from her, never letting his eyes leave her form. Buffy understood it was his silent way of telling her he wasn't going far. He leaned against a pole and retrieved another death stick. The smoke billowed away from her once it was lit.

They stayed like that for another ten minutes, until Gunn, Faith, and Andrew turned up. Together, the five of them walked back to The Bronze. Buffy stayed silent on the walk back, even when Faith reassured her that a bloody nose was nothing between almost-acquaintances. When Buffy found her friends sitting on an arrangement of sofas in the back of the club, all eyes were on her.

* * *

To Be Continued...in stormy weather...


	5. Chapter Four, Sweater Weather

**Author's Apology: **I haven't updated in weeks. I'm sorry. The story has been buzzing around in my brain, but I had so much outside of it to deal with. Plus, this might be my most edited chapter so far besides the prologue.

**Author's Note:** It's the song you've probably been waiting for. (But probably not the chapter.) I got some really helpful feedback which served as a new muse, and the story went through some rewrites. (Minor and major) I had to reconcile my old plot with my new plot and the theme/lyrics of the song. I think I did okay.

The reviews I've gotten are great. I do take them into account while writing, so if you haven't reviewed yet, please do.

* * *

**4. Sweater Weather**

Xander wasn't talking to her. Well, that was just fine. Buffy had six more friends, Cordelia if she ever gave her a call, her parents. There were plenty of other people just dying to talk to Buffy. She didn't need one friend's validation. She hadn't really done anything wrong. She had broken a girl's nose, yes. But that girl had asked for it! Buffy winced. Was she blaming the victim? Was Faith a victim? She didn't act like a victim. Did victims always act like victims? Buffy poked at her mashed potatoes while she considered the relative agency of a fight club victim. She was nibbling on the pot roast when she realized that Xander didn't even know what happened with Faith. He didn't even have a reason for giving her the silent treatment. She groaned.

"Buffy, are you alright?" Joyce put her fork down to concentrate on the matter of her daughter's small appetite. "You're not eating."

"I'm eating!" Buffy chewed on the roast with conviction. "Mm, big eating."

"Is something troubling you, Buffy? Are you having trouble with your classes?" Giles asked. He had been trying so hard to tutor her in History and Literature, she really didn't want to tell him that she was averaging something C-worthy right now.

"No, uh...no trouble." It wasn't a lie, exactly. Cs didn't really trouble her.

"Is someone bothering you at school?" Joyce asked.

Now that was a loaded question. Nothing really happened at _school_. Spike's creeper act definitely bothered her. So maybe not as loaded as she thought. Still, she was the one who had followed him to that creepy back lot with all those people and that camera- camera! There was a camera! Had Andrew recorded her breakdown? Buffy struggled to keep her breath steady. It wouldn't be very convincing if she hyperventilated while informing them, "No one I can't handle."

She didn't even know if it was true. Buffy had never seen Spike fight. Gunn had assured her that he would never...but Gunn had also brought her to the back lot. Her stomach did a turn. She hadn't spent a lot of time considering Gunn as anything more than a potential friend, but his betrayal already stung. So far, none of the new men in her life had proved themselves really worthy of her trust. Spike was a pig. No, a boar. He was violent and predatory and...boorish. Gunn was an ex-bully turned street fighter, totally willing to help the aforementioned predator lure her into their weird fight club. Xander was refusing to speak to her because she dared to hang out with teenage males that weren't him. Even impish little Andrew had betrayed her trust by recording the fight. Oh god. That video. She couldn't go two minutes without pondering that video.

"Buffy?"

Buffy's head snapped up so quickly, she had to suppress a groan. Besides the bruises that were slowly getting easier to hide (except for that one evil bruise on her chin), her neck was still every kind of sore. Quick movements were definitely of the bad.

"Joyce," Giles looked up from his plate with an expression Buffy had only seen once before. He had threatened to hurt Parker, the one boy who had never even physically harmed her. "Do you mind giving us a moment?"

"Why not? We're pretty much done eating and Buffy's not touching her food." Joyce started clearing the dinner plates before anyone could object. Giles kept his eyes trained on Buffy, occasionally squinting at the harder-to-hide chin bruise. When Joyce had finally deposited all the dishes in the sink and moved up the stairs with a huff, Giles removed whatever softness was left of his countenance and spoke up.

"Been getting into fights have you?" They small tinge of an accusatory tone was swallowed by genuine concern. It felt like she had gotten stabbed by a cotton-wrapped dagger.

"Not fights. One fight," Buffy tried to play off her heavy nervousness with laughter. "If you think I look bad, you should see the other girl."

"I'm assuming she started the fight, then?" Giles pulled his glasses away from his face and began cleaning them.

Buffy tried to recall the details of a fight that had happened nearly a week ago. Faith did swing first. If she was judging by swing, Faith technically started it. If she was being honest, Spike started it by bringing her there in the first place. "It was a fight club," she confessed.

Giles coughed. He stood. He sat. He stood and walked to the kitchen. After a moment of silence, he appeared at the doorway. "Please join me while I brew a cup."

That couldn't be good. Giles drank tea with everything, but he never made a new pot in the middle of conversation. Buffy sat at the island and watched her surrogate father puttered about their kitchen. He faced her every few seconds with his lips at the ready, but his voice never seemed to commit. It was starting to wig her out. She wasn't sure if she should be feeling guilt or fear of punishment.

"I wanted to learn to fight," She said in defense of herself. She told him the shortest version of the story she could think of. "There's this kid at school who my friends say can fight. And I decided I wanted to fight so I asked him to teach me, and he took me to this fight club." A muscle twitched at the base of Giles' neck and Buffy continued, "He paired me up with this girl and we fought pretty slowly at first until I snapped and just..."

Something wet was slithering down her right cheek. It was so much colder than it should have been. "I snapped and I just wailed into her. And she laughed. And I just kept hitting her and hitting her. It felt good, Giles. It scared me, but..." Giles put his glasses down and joined Buffy on her side of the island. She fought the shudder that came instinctively the minute he began to cradle her.

He held each of her shoulders softly and firmly. There was anger in his eyes when they met her own, but she knew from his touch that it was not directed at her. "I should start by saying that you are grounded for the next week."

"I figured I might be. Just please don't tell Joyce."

"I suppose I could come up with alternate reasoning for your punishment," Giles said. "We should take care of this problem of yours, however. First, I'm going to teach you to fight. Then, I'm going to murder the cretin who brought you into this."

"Don't murder him," Buffy almost laughed. "You fight."

There was a smile inching across his face as he made his way back to the tea. "Oh yes."

* * *

Buffy wondered if being bad at deep breathing could be considered a fatal character flaw. After four lessons, she should have learned to tap into her inner yogi by now. It made no difference that Giles had showed her how to breath between kicks and punches. She still hyperventilated after a fifteen minute workout. There were so many thoughts invading her head space. Just when she thought she had found a center, her mind would cloud and her breath would catch itself in her throat.

"Focus," Giles told her as he lowered his kick shields.

She shook her body, head to toe, hoping that her anxieties would fall away. Giles had already informed her that she had good form. If she could focus on that, maybe it would be enough to keep the thought of actually owning up to everything away. It had been nine days since the incident and the only friend who knew what had happened was Gunn. Facing the rest of them would take courage. All Buffy had up her sleeve was anxiety.

"When I said 'focus', I did not mean 'become so distracted by your inner monologue that you neglect the lesson'."

Giles sat on the basement cot and gestured for Buffy to join him. In the few seconds after taking a seat, she had the time to realize just how dedicated he was to her cause. All of the remaining boxes and useless junk had been cleared away from the basement. What was left was far more boxing equipment than Buffy thought she would ever see in her home.

"Perhaps you should get some help before the er, more physical therapy?"

"Excuse me? I'm _not_ crazy."

"Buffy, there is nothing wrong with therapy," Giles assured her. "Anyone who's been through what you have would need someone to talk to. Someone...trained to deal with these situations."

"What if I don't want to talk to some stranger about it?"

"You could start by talking to me." The next few moments created a vacuum of silence. Usually, when no one speaks, every other sound seems to echo in surround sound. Buffy would have considered the possibility that she had gone deaf if not for the sound of her own breathing. Giles tried to ease her process by asking, "Why are you so desperate to learn combat? Do you not feel safe?"

"I never feel safe," Buffy said before she could stop herself. "Just when I think I'm okay, I make some stupid decision and I get myself hurt."

"Buffy."

"Don't! Don't tell me not to blame myself, please. Don't call me a...a _victim_." Buffy wiped away a stray tear. "I know it wasn't my fault when my dad hit me. And it wasn't my fault that I couldn't see the truth about Angel. But Riley, and Parker, and... this whole fight club thing? That's all me."

Giles nodded firmly. He waited a few moments for Buffy to calm down and said, "You're wrong. No matter what decisions you made, no one has the right to put their hands on you."

"But the fight club. I-"

"Did you intend to get into a fight, or start one, when you entered that ring?"

"No. No, I was just defending myself. But-"

"No buts." Giles took a deep breath and looked Buffy in the eyes. "I was in therapy once. For a very long time, actually."

"Were you...Did someone..."

"Was I abused? Oh, no. Not at all. I was an abuser," Buffy fought the urge to shift to the other side of the cot. Was this confession supposed to make her feel safe with him?

"I had a fiancee. We didn't always see eye to eye, and I was going through a dark phase in my life. There was a lot of drinking. Drugs. I could tell you that it all stemmed from childhood issues, but the truth is, I couldn't handle my addiction. I took it out on...Jenny." Giles's voice got shaky then, but he continued. "I never hit her or, touched her without permission. In my mind, I did worse. I took her freedom away. Controlled her evening, after a particularly nasty fight, Jenny...shot herself."

Buffy couldn't help it. She gasped. Loudly.

"She survived, but...we didn't. I never knew how much pain I was putting her through. I joined AA and met Joyce."

"Wait, what?"

"That story belongs to her. Come," Giles was off the cot and holding out his kick shields before Buffy could blink. "I want you to focus. On Angel."

"What?"

"This shield," Giles said as he held up his right arm. "Is your father. The other is Angel."

Buffy froze.

"If you don't want to hit them, that's fine. You can talk to them."

She turned to face the right shield. Talking to inanimate objects was definitely something a crazy person would do. But everything in her life so insane. Maybe she had the idea of crazy all wrong. Actually getting to face her father might help her feel better. Hank Summers, the one that wasn't being held by Giles, was six feet under. Buffy had never attended his funeral, nor had she tried to face him before he passed.

"I'm sorry," she said. She expected Giles to be shocked, but his face showed no judgment. She continued. "I shouldn't have left the way I did. The way...Mom did. But...I couldn't stay. I couldn't keep waiting for you to be my dad again. I just thought..." She looked up at Giles.

_"It's your fault, you know." His fingers are twitching around his fourth beer._

_"What?" She holds close to Mr. Gordo, her fluffy confidante. Mommy's gone. But that's not what Daddy means. Daddy is mean to Mommy sometimes but he would never._

"I thought he would never hit me."

* * *

Walking into school should have been harder. Buffy didn't know how to be honest with her friends. She didn't even know who she could really trust. What she did know was that she had the courage to confront anything she needed to, at least for today. Today, she needed to confront Andrew about his candid camera.

When Buffy found him, Andrew's head was locked into an uncomfortable by Faith.

"Say you're sorry." Faith squeezed Andrew's head tighter. "Say sorry, you little bitch."

Buffy almost wanted to rush to his defense. She settled for clearing her throat. "Hi."

Faith released Andrew and he waved.

"The great Slayer graces us with her presence. Haven't seen you since that night, B. How've you been?" Faith's nose was still swollen. The circles beneath her eyes were turning yellow-brown, and her lip was split in two places. There were other, smaller bruises covering her face. Unlike Buffy, Faith had taken no precautions to cover up her injuries. She was flaunting them like trophies.

"Hi, Faith. I'd like to speak to Andrew. Alone, if possible."

Something about Buffy's desperate expression must have spoken to Faith, because she threw up her arms and started to walk away. "Call me, B!"

"I didn't realize you and Faith had exchanged numbers," Andrew said.

"We didn't," Buffy said. She took a deep breath. The time came to stand up to an actual person. Well, a jittery person who was currently scratching his elbow out of nervousness. Okay, confronting Andrew probably didn't pose the challenge she felt it did. "You were recording the night I hit Faith. I need you to get rid of that video."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Faith and Spike use their videos for training p-purposes. It's the closest a person can get to superhero training without holographic technolo-"

"No. Stop. Just- I don't care what they do with the videos, Andrew. I want it gone. Very gone."

"Okay, I...Honestly, you scare me more than Faith. You're like a warrior pr-"

"Please don't." On another day, Andrew's ramblings were awkward but tolerable. Today it was like watching an ad play while waiting for a movie to start.

"I'll give it to you! You can destroy it yourself. It's just...I don't have it on me at the moment." He twitched again.

"Where is it, then?"

"Spike has it. Oh! I-I know! He's working at the Espresso Pump tonight. There's this coffeehouse event or something. You can meet him there and get it back."

Buffy felt sick just considering the possibility. She hadn't said a word to Spike ever since he left her at The Bronze. He still watched her from afar, but not as intently. If this had been Spike from the start, she might've found it flattering. With the context of what had happened recently, it was unnerving. Still, she needed to make sure the video was deleted. If meeting Spike was the only way to do it, she would have to grit her teeth and face the pain. The gut-wrenching anxiety pain.

* * *

Grounded.

Grounded meant she couldn't head off to a coffeehouse event, even if she used the defense that Willow would come to make sure she didn't get into trouble. Grounded meant that they didn't even call Willow to check. Grounded meant climbing out the bedroom window while Giles and Joyce were sleeping.

It felt skeevy and even criminal. Aside from the personal moral issues, she didn't have any difficulty sneaking out of her bedroom window. There was a tall tree that leaned almost directly against the windowsill. All it took was the patience to move at a sloth's pace so as not to wake her parents. Once she was on the ground the walk to the Espresso Pump was easy, if not a bit lonely. It was the first time she ever realized how dark her street was. Fortunately, the coffee shop wasn't far. It was also very well lit, and packed with people.

She managed to barely spot Spike, cleaning up behind the patrons as they moved around the space. He probably wasn't one for food service. Buffy certainly wouldn't want him for a waiter.

"Do you have a minute?" She didn't even know why she was asking. He didn't look that busy.

"Yeah, I'm kind of volunteering tonight," He said. "Let's just step away from the noise, yeah?"

Buffy didn't let him lead her too far from the front door. "Andrew said you'd be here, with the video. I want to see you delete it myself." He took a few steps closer."And don't try anything. There are people around."

"I don't care for what you're implying, Slayer. My mother raised me to be a gentleman." When Buffy scoffed, he dropped his proper accent and said, "Look, Faith needs that video for training, no one else has ever taken her down like that."

"I already told Andrew that I don't care why you made it. I don't want there to be a video linking me back to that fight club. I could get suspended or even arrested. Delete every copy of it, Spike."

"There are no _copies_. We never uploaded it from Andrew's camera. He's got one of those disc camcorders." Spike pulled a small disc from his pocket. "This is the only so-called copy of that night's romp." He dropped the disc on the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot. "I like messin' with you, but I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"It's a little late for that, Spike. You've done a lot of things that make me uncomfortable." Before he could say another word, she held up her hand. If she could confront her father (kind of), she could confront some little stalker boy. "You follow me around school, harass me, take me out to some empty parking lot in the middle of the night. You make me feel unsafe!"

Spike took a step back. It didn't make any sense. He looked hurt. On anyone else, that expression would point to them having just been slapped. Buffy didn't want to, but she felt guilty. She would have apologized for hurting him, but he opened his mouth again.

"Fine then, didn't want your attention anyway." Buffy rolled her eyes. What happened to Mr. Cool-And-Mysterious? "Was only trying to suss out whether you could be trusted, walking in all new and swaggering about the school with your shampoo-commercial hair. And you asked me to teach you to fight, remember?"

"Right. Well, it was my mistake. And I won't be making it again. Get it through your head, Spike. I will never ever-" Thunder cracked. Buffy probably should have noticed the looming gray clouds. Cloud watching at night really wasn't something she usually did. What was supposed to be a quick confrontation became a heavy wall of confusion. And water.

"Maybe you should come back to my place. Get some dry clothes. I could give you a ride home."

"What did I just say to you?"

"Fine. You want to stay here and get soaked, that's on you."

Buffy stood in silence. Was this really her only option? She couldn't go back home soaking wet. Even if she climbed through the window, Joyce would notice the pile of wet clothes somewhere in her room. Of course, she could hide the wet clothes and dry them herself. But then a water stain would be left on the carpet. It seemed like so much trouble to climb a tree in the rain, break into her own house in the middle of the night, hide her soaking wet clothes, and then dry the carpet. She would have to do it all that without waking Joyce or Giles.

"Fine," she said. Part of her- a big chunky part- was telling her to turn back around and hide. Call Giles and tell him everything. It was like falling off the wagon, right? Following Spike around at night was her addiction. And Giles was her sponsor. She could even go to group. "But just the dry clothes."

"And the ride?"

"Spike."

"You can't be walking in the rain at this time of night."

"Don't. Tell me what I can't do."

He sighed. "_I_ can't let you walk around alone."

"Okay. But if you try anything, you'll be sorry."

"I believe you. Slayer." He laughed to himself before he started to lead the way. "Break my nose, you will."

When Spike said his place was right around the corner, it was an understatement. His apartment was, in fact, a loft above the coffee shop. The old school car parked out front had to be his. It didn't look like the kind of car a high school senior would pick up at a used lot. She would have asked him what the story behind it was, if she cared enough to know. Which she didn't. When they got to the front door, Spike offered to let her in. Buffy stayed put. It was enough to fight the feeling that he might abduct her once they were away from strangers. She wasn't walking into an enclosed space with him. Still, he left his door open for her.

He returned with his hands full. "Here. Dry clothes, as promised."

"These are women's pants," Buffy mused as she took the clothes from him. The shirt was black and lacy. When she was in middle school, she might have called it goth.

"Ex's. Sweater is mine."

"I...uh. I need to change." Spike didn't respond. "Give me your key."

"I'm sorry? Are you completely off your bird?"

"I'm going to lock the door and you're going to stay out here. I want insurance that you're not going to sneak in and watch me or something. Because that's what you do. Follow me around and watch me."

"Well, that's just insulting," he said. "It's not enough that I'm giving you clean clothes and a ride? I'm supposed to let you lock me out of my own bloody home?"

"Yes. I'm not gonna rob you or anything. You want me to trust you?" His face softened in that way that made Buffy very uncomfortable. "Prove that I can."

Without further argument, Spike pulled a skull-shaped key chain from his coat pocket. It was almost unsettling. As far as Buffy knew, there was no reason for Spike to actually trust her. Yet here she was, pulling the key from his hand and letting herself into his apartment. His...surprisingly bare apartment. It wasn't a complete vacant wasteland. It at least looked lived in.

There was one large room that made up the living and dining areas. He had a lone couch and a TV that sat in the middle of a cheap entertainment center. There didn't even seem to be a cable box. The kitchen was more like a kitchenette in the far corner of the main room. To the left, Buffy could see a solitary door that lead to the bedroom. She considered stepping in there to change, for extra precaution of course. Snooping around would be completely pointless, but the place felt familiar.

She realized what the resemblance was as she changed her shirt. This apartment was...spartan. She remembered what it was like to live like this. No friends leaving their glasses or jackets over by accident. Ramen for dinner almost every night. If something happened, something major, there was only the homemade safety kit to help ease the pain. Aside from several architectural differences, Spike's apartment looked just like her temporary home in L.A.

It was suffocating. The moment she slipped her arms into his- surprisingly comfy- sweater, Buffy ran to the door. And her toes squished. She opened the door a crack. "Do you have any dry socks?"

He sighed. "There are a pair of Crocs in the closet, or flip flops if you like those a little better."

Buffy fought the urge to laugh. Crocs and flip flops? So much for the bad boy routine. His comfy sweater didn't exactly scream dark warrior. She ripped her socks and shoes off at the door, leaving them with the pile of wet clothes. She moved as slowly as she could towards the bedroom door. She cursed the size of the living room, wishing the walk could have taken another few seconds. Any length of time that could have helped her prepare to walk into a relative stranger's bedroom would have been appreciated. Even with his front door locked, Buffy couldn't get over the fear that she would be trapped in the room the moment she entered.

This wasn't the type of bedroom she really wanted to be trapped in. There weren't any bedrooms she wanted to be trapped in, even alone, but this one was not quite as spartan as the rest of his place. The walls were covered in a dark red, damask pattern. His bed had a black framed canopy and crimson bed sheets. Not everything about the space was depressingly dark, the carpets were a nice neutral color. There were a few band posters, one of them signed by at least four people. Buffy got the sense that all of the attention he could put in the entirety of his apartment went into this one room. She wouldn't be surprised to find a very modest bathroom. Not that she was going to inspect his bathroom.

It was enough that she was opening Spike's closet without him present. She didn't need to sneak around in the last unseen room of the house. Buffy found the Crocs hiding in the darkest corner of the closet, along with the flip flops she knew would be there...and the high heel boots she didn't expect to find. No matter where she looked in the room- not that she looked very close- she couldn't see a real relic of a dead relationship. Maybe the wallpaper was his ex-girlfriend's choice, maybe the canopy bed was too. The only items that seemed to obviously belong to someone else were these clothes. Unless Spike was wearing these boots, which was totally fine if that was what he was into. They didn't seem to be his size though

She stepped back outside with more confidence than she expected to have. Her feet and hair were damp, the black skinny jeans were a little too long and the Crocs were a little too small, but Buffy felt as if she held all the power. It didn't take long to realize why. When she handed the key chain to Spike, he ducked his head. He had a meekness about him she never expected to see. If this was the result of taking control of a situation, she could understand why people liked to do it so much. She could never live in this state of authority, but she didn't mind visiting.

They made a quick run through the shower of rain, which was already getting lighter, and jumped into the car. Twenty minutes ago she was afraid to come anywhere near the vehicle. Now she got the sense that she could pop Spike in the nose if he tried any funny business.

"So what's the story here?" She asked as he fired up the engine.

"Story? Don't quite catch your meaning, luv."

"Single high school student with a part-time job affording a swanky classic car like this? There has to be a story."

"Interested in my life then, are you?" His scarred eyebrow went right up as his voice turned husky and low. It made her want to slap him right upside the head.

"No. Well, yes. Kind of. No."

"That was very clear, thank you."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. Sarcastic jerk. "The answer is definitely 'no'."

"Well, fine then."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Great."

Outside of the fast-paced punk music that beat in the background, the pair sat in silence. The ride seemed much shorter that Buffy expected it to. Unfortunately, the rain was still coming down hard as he parked by the curb.

"I, er, don't really like the idea of lettin' you out just to drown," Spike told her.

"Are you telling me I have to stay in here with you?"

"Bloody hell, woman!" He leaned over her and she tried not to jump. He unlocked her door. "You want to leave? Leave!"

"I don't want to get wet, okay?. Plus, it kinda feels cold."

"I could..." He looked at her with an all-new intensity, like she was the most puzzling thing he'd witnessed. "Turn on the heat."

"Okay."

Turning on the heart didn't help as much as she hoped it would. Alone in a car with any other hot guy, she would let him warm her up himself. It couldn't hurt just to cold his hand or something. The car was still so cold. She could feel two instincts at once, and she wasn't sure which was the one she was supposed to listen to. Buffy inched a little closer to Spike, and allowed her hand to just barely touch his own.

He was like ice. It was then that she noticed he left his coat behind. He had never changed out of his soaking clothes. He pulled his hand away and tried to warm it in the other. Buffy almost wanted to lean over and warm him herself.

"Sorry 'bout that." He didn't offer any explanation, he just turned up the volume of his obnoxious punk music. "Hey, do you like The Ramones?"

She didn't. She really didn't. After six tracks it wasn't so bad, though. The rain started to ease up as Buffy got a little warmer. Spike offered to walk her right to the door, but she confessed that she had taken the illegal route out of the house.

"Well, at least take this with you." He handed her a small umbrella. "For next time. And you can't keep the clothes if you want."

Buffy couldn't imagine keeping the ex's apparel, but Spike's sweater was comfy. She said her goodbyes and tried to ignore the way his face fell as she shut the car door. _'Maybe I should have given him a kiss on the cheek or-No! Bad Buffy.'_

She flashed the lights on inside, as promised, and listened out for the tell-tale sound of a car driving away. Buffy climbed into bed, completely dry, and tried to ignore the twinge of regret she felt for not giving Spike a little affection.

* * *

To Be Continued...With more brawlin' Buffy.


End file.
